


So sweet with that blood in your teeth

by bangyababy, ConsentFest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Consent Issues, Depressed Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Feels, Fights, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Up, Mind Manipulation, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter, Praise Kink, Sass, Snark, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vampire Draco Malfoy, sleep issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/pseuds/bangyababy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsentFest/pseuds/ConsentFest
Summary: Harry works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. His latest case his to stop a vampire uprising lead by none other than Draco Malfoy. Malfoy seems willing to negotiate with the Ministry. There's just one small condition: Harry has to agree to be Malfoy's dinner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I, for one, am always here for a vampire story so when I saw the prompt 16 I was all for it. It was an anon prompter, but whoever you are I would like to say thank you for prompting this! I hope you enjoy it! I have to thank: K for being very supportive and talking me through most of this and doing the initial beta, P and M for doing the second read-throughs on such short notice and doing an amazing job. Lastly, to the mods for being so understanding.

Harry walked into his office at a quarter past eight to find a Ministry underling waiting for him outside his door. 

“Good morning, Mr. Potter!” The underling called out as soon as Harry was in his line of sight.  

Harry sighed. It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? “Can I help you?” Harry asked, walking into his office and shrugging off his cloak.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, I am so sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but the Minister himself wanted me to give this to you, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have sent me all the way down here if it wasn’t important. But if you're busy right now, I can always come back later and just tell the Minister you’re not in? I’m sorry, I should have waited for you to come in before I came down here and—”

“What’s your name?” Harry cut it when he could finally take no more of the underling’s spiraling. 

“Fitz-Simmons, Mr. Potter, sir,” the underling supplied. 

“Well, Fitz-Simmons, if the Minister sent you down here to give me something, don’t you think you ought to give it to me?” 

Fitz-Simmons turned such an incredible shade of cardinal that Harry was briefly worried that he was going to have to ring St. Mungo’s. “Oh, right, of course, here you are.” Fitz-Simmons shoved the file marked with a huge CONFIDENTIAL to Harry. “The Minister would like you to read the file and then come and see him if you don’t mind.”

“And if I do?” Harry asked, opening the file, already turning from Fitz-Simmons.

“Pardon?” 

“If I do mind?” Harry glanced up from the file. 

It was a strange thing to watch the colour completely drain from a person, especially one who had been so red only moments ago. “I—Oh—” Fitz-Simmons sputtered and Harry took pity on him. 

“Tell the Minister I’ll be up in half an hour.” 

Fitz-Simmons nodded hastily and all but ran from the room. The head receptionist, Mrs. Oliver came in just as Fitz-Simmons was on his way out. 

“You shouldn’t tease them like that,” Mrs. Oliver chided. 

“But it’s so easy to,” Harry replied with a shit eating grin. 

Mrs. Oliver shot him a reproachful look, but couldn’t completely hide her smile. “Even so,” she said, setting down Harry’s tea. 

Harry took it with a grateful murmur of thanks and watched as Mrs. Oliver picked up the file the Minister sent down. “That’s confidential.”

“Is it?” Mrs. Oliver made no move to set the file down, and Harry made no move to stop her. It didn’t matter how top secret an operation was, even outside of their department, Mrs. Oliver always somehow found out the details anyway. Harry often wondered if she possessed Sight. 

“This looks like it could be nasty,” Mrs. Oliver remarked as Harry sipped his tea. “We haven’t seen an uprising at least since, well, it must be since Grindelwald shook one up.” She held the file back out to him. 

Harry hummed and took the file back. She was halfway to the door when she paused and said, “I don’t know what the Minister will have you do, probably something ill-advised, to be honest.” Harry snorted and she continued. “But be careful, Mr. Potter, follow your gut. The mind can be manipulated, but the stomach always knows.” 

Harry smiled at her. “Thanks, Mrs. Oliver.” 

“I’ll let the Minister know when you’re on your way up,” she said as she left the room. 

Harry read through the file twice, as bare-bones as it was, before closing it and pushing it aside. He took off his glasses and rubbed a weary hand down his face, pausing to tug at his short beard.

Vampires. 

The one magical creature he actually hadn’t come into close contact with during his time at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or even when he was a boy, surprisingly, and now there was an uprising. Harry had to wonder why the Minister wanted him specifically on this case when there were plenty of other seasoned officers who had probably at least spoken to a vampire. Harry wasn’t exactly known for being the nicest person to work with. 

It wasn’t that Harry was unwilling to work with others, per se, it was just that he had a hard time trusting others to know and do the things that needed to be done. It was one of the reasons he had left the Aurors and had joined the DRCMC in the first place. The DRCMC officers only took partners on a case-by-case basis, usually if centaurs or werewolves were involved. And probably vampires too, now that Harry thought about it. 

Harry drained the last of his tea before standing from his desk. He snatched the file and headed out into the reception area. 

“Going straight up?” Mrs. Oliver asked. Harry often stopped to see Hermione on the way, but he already knew he was going to want to vent to her afterward. 

“Yeah.”

“Good luck,” Mrs. Oliver called as he stepped in the lift. 

“Thanks, I think I’ll need it.” He gave her an exaggerated eye-roll as the doors closed. The doors opened to the Minister's office and Harry spotted Fitz-Simmons out of the corner of his eye almost drop the stack of papers he had been holding. 

“Good morning, Mr. Potter!” Several people greeted at once. 

“Morning.” He gave a curt nod and headed straight for the Minister’s office. He rapped twice on the door and opened it before the Minister could reply. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” Harry asked, poking his head in. 

“Ah, Potter, come in, sit down.” Shacklebolt gestured to the chair in front of him. Harry shut the door behind him and sat down. “So, questions?”

“Yeah, why me?” Harry asked. 

Shacklebolt chuckled and shook his head. “You never do mince words, do you, Potter?”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” 

Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “The leader of this uprising is someone you have a bit of a history with.”

“History?” Harry repeated, mind already rifling through possibilities. 

Shacklebolt nodded and continued, “A rather tumultuous one, if I recall correctly. But I need you to understand that you are our best bet. The Aurors have tried to deal with him before, but it didn’t end well.”

Shacklebolt was a good man, and a fair minister, but his policy  _ always  _ seemed to go in with a strong arm first, when a simple conversation would have sufficed. Harry understood where the man was coming from, having fought in two Wizarding Wars, but not every problem could be dealt with by a well-aimed  _ Expulso _ . 

“The Aurors?” Harry scowled. “I don’t mean to be rude, Minister, but you sent the Aurors in  _ before _ Magical Creatures?” 

Shacklebolt’s face tightened as he replied, “In these situations, it’s better to go in with a strong arm first.”

Harry just barely stopped himself from groaning, but still couldn’t help but snap, “And how did that work out for you?”

“Potter.” 

“Well, who is it?” Harry asked, still a bit harsher than was probably advisable. 

“Draco Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t know whose name he had been expecting to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. He hadn’t heard about Malfoy in years, though Harry admitted to wondering what his old rival was getting up to from time to time. He had assumed Malfoy had left England with his mother a while back. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.  _ Of course,  _ Draco Malfoy would get turned into a vampire and then start a bloody uprising. 

“Now, we do have a team for—”

As soon as Shacklebolt began speaking, Harry remembered something he had said earlier. “Did he kill them?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Malfoy, the Aurors.” Harry gestured. “Did he kill them?” 

Shacklebolt sighed. “Yes and no.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you could argue that he was the direct cause of death, but he didn’t actually wield the wand. As I’m told, Malfoy was already skilled at Legilimency and Occlumency alike, and as you know vampires’ specialty is mind magic. He used his Pull and the Power of Suggestion on a junior Auror who ended up killing himself.” 

“You mean to say Malfoy suggested he commit suicide?” Harry asked, horrified. Malfoy had always been a bully, but to suggest someone kill themself was low even for him. 

But Shacklebolt was shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t exactly the case. It wasn’t Malfoy’s intention to kill the boy, but the boy became so obsessed with Malfoy that when he was rejected, he killed himself.

“Christ,” Harry breathed. 

“So you see,” Shacklebolt went on, “why you were called in on this. As it stands, you happen to be one of the best, if not  _ the _ best at resisting Imperius, which is rather similar to vampires’ Pull.”

“Not to mention I’m an actual officer of the DRCMC,” Harry couldn’t help but add. 

Shacklebolt continued on as if he hadn’t heard him. “Here’s the file on Malfoy. Ideally, I’d like for you to go see him within the next few days, with a team, of course.”

“I’ll go alone,” Harry replied taking the file. If there was one thing Harry was certain of, it was that Malfoy would eat him alive if he came with anyone else. 

“Potter—”

“What do you think he’ll do if he sees me coming up with a group of Ministry officials after whatever stunt you all pulled last time? With all due respect, Minister, you chose me for this specifically because your way didn’t work and, as you said, I’m your best bet, so let me do this my way.” 

Shacklebolt stared at him for a long time, but Harry refused to back down. Finally, Shacklebolt heaved a great sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fine. But, Potter, you need to put an end to this. I don’t want to put any more men on this than necessary, understand?”

Harry grimaced but inclined his head in acknowledgement. He understood perfectly well what Shacklebolt meant. Strong arm first, second,  _ and _ third. 

“You will have strict check-in times,” Shacklebolt continued, “If we go more than thirty minutes without hearing from you, we’re sending in backup. Agreed?” 

“Agreed,” Harry said, rising. “I’ll let you know when I plan to go by the end of the day.” 

“Good. Dismissed,” Shacklebolt said to Harry’s already retreating back. 

Harry barely acknowledged the calls of goodbye from the Minister's staff as he stepped into the lift and pressed the button for level five, where Hermione worked at the Department of International Cooperation. 

“She’s busy,” Louis said as soon as Harry stepped out of the lift. 

“She always is,” Harry replied, heading for Hermione’s office without breaking stride. Louis grumbled but made no real move to stop him. 

Hermione was on a call when Harry walked in. “Yes, yes, I understand, but what  _ you _ don’t seem to understand is that I asked for these records weeks ago.” She rolled her eyes at Harry as he sat down opposite her. She went through a series of ‘mhm’s’ and ‘I see’s before she let out an exasperated, “Well, then get a better filing system!” 

Harry stifled a laugh as she threw her head on the desk in exasperation. “Please, it would be a great help. Yes, thank you, bye.” She picked her head up,  hung up the receiver, and made a screeching noise of distress. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asked with a cheeky grin.

“Peachy. If the Americans could just get their act together  _ for once. _ ”

“Unlikely,” Harry supplied.

“Unfortunately.” Hermione frowned at the stack of files that appeared on her desk. “So what did you come down here to bitch about this time?”

Harry pretended to look hurt. “Who said I’m here to bitch?”

Hermione quirked a brow. “Oh? Did you come down here to listen to me bitch, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “I can’t even understand your bitching.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Did you know Draco Malfoy is a vampire?” Harry asked without preamble. 

To her credit, Hermione did look a bit ruffled. “I had heard a rumour,” she said, her voice just a tad too high. 

“You heard a rumour?” 

“It was just a rumour, Harry.” 

“Right.”

Hermione huffed out a breath and crossed her arms. “Look, I don’t see why you’re upset with me because I didn’t share what I believed to be gossip with you.”

“Hermione, I work for the DRCMC, why  _ wouldn’t _ I want to know that a person I’ve known for half my life might be a magical creature?”

Hermione glared at him. “So it has nothing to do with that person being Draco Malfoy, a person you admitted to  _ stalking  _ for a year? And for the record, I don’t believe vampires should be classi—”

“I didn’t  _ stalk  _ him—”

“Are you serious?” 

“I was just keeping an eye on him, anyone would—”

“Save it, Harry. You and I both know that if I had told you, you would have tracked him down and made a fool of yourself. Or worse.” 

“I am a professionally trained officer of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione.” 

“You’re a professionally trained prat is what you are,” Hermione shot back, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Hermione joined in. 

“So, it’s true then, about Draco Malfoy?” Hermione asked when their laughter died down. 

Harry ran a hand through his beard and sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Is that about the uprising chatter?”

“I should have known you’d already heard about it. Does no one in this building have any respect for the word ‘confidential’?” 

Hermione glared at him. “The only reason I know is because there have been some calls about it from people on the continent, namely Romania.”

“You’d think the Romanians would have a handle on vampires after all this time,” Harry snorted. 

“The thing is, they do, that’s what the calls were about. They were concerned about foreigners coming in and trying to make trouble where there wasn’t any. You know, your department could learn a lot from the Romanians.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry told her, with no intention of doing such a thing. “In any case, I’ve been specially selected to go deal with whatever hissy fit Malfoy is throwing.” 

“On your own?” 

Harry nodded. “Safer that way.” Hermione frowned but said nothing, so Harry continued, “I won’t go see him for another couple of days, but just a heads-up,” Harry said standing up. “I probably won’t be round for dinner on Sunday.”

“Is this something you can tell Ron about?” 

“Not really. Too many people know about it already.”

Hermione looked a bit sheepish as she spoke, “As far as I can tell, based off of the phone calls I’ve been receiving anyway, Malfoy hasn’t actually done anything dangerous, or even enough to warrant it being called an uprising.”

“Well, you know how Kingsley is.”

Hermione gave him a look and they both said, “ _ Better to go in with a strong arm first. _ ” They shared a laugh and then Hermione’s face softened.

“Harry, I know that this is Malfoy, but…promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t do anything too rash, don’t underestimate him, and  _ don’t _ let him get under your skin.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Thanks, ‘Mione, and I appreciate the concern, but I think I know how to handle Draco Malfoy.” 


	2. Chapter 2

If Draco Malfoy was trying to start an uprising, he wasn’t being very smart about it. Or perhaps, he was being too smart. First, his headquarters were apparently Malfoy Manor, of which he was the sole occupant, as Harry learned. Sure, the house was big and could accommodate a large number of the undead if need be, but after the war, it was under Ministry scrutiny. Frankly, Harry was surprised that it had taken this long for the Ministry to catch on to what Malfoy was up to.

The other big reason Harry was concerned for the fate of Malfoy’s scheming was that when Harry approached the gates, the wards didn’t even so much as tingle over his skin. Not very secure, but then again, not a lot of people would knowingly trespass on Malfoy property, let alone a rumoured vampire’s. Perhaps the seemingly warm welcome was all part of an elaborate ruse. It would make sense that Malfoy would want visitors to be at ease; it was probably much easier to suck their blood when they were caught off guard. 

Harry made himself stop that train of thought. There was no point in working himself up before he even saw Malfoy. Psyching himself out was going to get him nowhere except right where Malfoy likely wanted him.  

He sent a quick message off to the Minister letting him know he was inside the gates and made his way up the drive. The door opened as soon as Harry had climbed up the short set of stairs that led to it. He was greeted by an older house-elf who looked up at him with big unblinking eyes. 

“Master Malfoy will be seeing you in the study.” The elf turned before Harry could say anything about the matter and began to scurry down the hall. Harry followed with a frown. If Harry hadn’t been wary before, he was downright vigilant now. 

The house-elf led him to the study and opened the door with a bow. The room was much brighter than he expected, and somehow the brightest spot was Malfoy, sitting on a chaise lounge, a glass of wine hovering in the air next to him as he flipped through a book. 

Harry hadn’t exactly imagined Malfoy as a vampire, but he did have a vague idea in mind. He had pictured ruffled shirts and velvet jackets, high waisted trousers, and maybe a low ponytail. He had pictured something baroque, very French; the typical B film vampire aesthetic. This was not that at all.  

Malfoy was wearing a pair of leather trousers that looked like he’d have to lube himself up to get into and a sheer button-down shirt that just barely hid the outline of his nipples. His hair was long and loose, falling about his shoulders like fine silk. Malfoy had always been pale, but now his skin was practically translucent, the one spot of color being the pink of his mouth. It stood out like a beacon, and Harry wondered if perhaps Malfoy was wearing lipstick. Harry had an unexpected urge to rub his thumb across it and see if it would smudge. 

Harry didn’t have time to dwell on that particular invasive thought, because Malfoy was finally acknowledging his presence. 

Malfoy set the book aside and looked up at Harry, as if he just noticed that he had entered, and now that he was looking directly at him, Harry could see the only thing that hadn’t changed was Malfoy’s eyes, still the color of an ocean stormcloud. “Potter,” Malfoy drawled, “what a pleasant surprise.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the flippant tone and asked, “Were you expecting me?”

Draco chuckled shaking his head. “Now, Potter, I believe I did just say it was a pleasant surprise. What on Earth would lead you to believe it was anything but that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that your wards didn’t seem disturbed by my being here, your house-elf opened the door before I even knocked, and you look way too pleased to see me.” 

Draco set his elbow on the arm of the chaise lounge and leaned his head onto it, grin firmly in place. “It seems, Potter, that you have chosen the wrong profession.”

Harry blinked. “Pardon?”

“You’re not an Auror, correct?”

“Yeah, and?”

“You should be,” Draco said, plucking his wine glass from the air and draining the last of it.

“And why is that?” 

“You have reasonable deductive powers, better than the last lot Shacklebolt sent, anyway. That alone has already put you leagues above the rest of the Auror Department.” Draco stood and made his way over to a drink cart where he refilled his glass from a chilling bottle. “Wine?” 

“I’m on the clock.” 

“Now? It’s well past working hours, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t exactly come see you during normal hours, could I?” Harry grumbled, looking pointedly out the window into the dark. 

“Fair enough,” Malfoy replied, flopping back down on the chaise lounge. “So what message have you brought me from the Minister?”

Malfoy looked up at him, waiting, head back in his palm. Harry huffed, “Can I sit down?”

“You’re not the one that needs permission.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair opposite Malfoy. “Isn’t that just to come inside?”

“More or less,” Malfoy conceded. “It’s more about accommodation.” 

“You never did answer my question.”

“Which was?” Malfoy asked, and Harry knew Malfoy knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“Were you expecting me?” 

Malfoy appeared to think for a moment. “More or less.” Harry raised his brows and Malfoy continued. “I knew it was a matter a time before they sent you.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because they should have sent you in the first place,” Malfoy said simply. 

Harry was a bit taken aback by the statement, and while it was true, he hadn’t expected Malfoy to admit it, least of all put it so bluntly. 

“You’re surprised.” Malfoy smiled, it was small and secretive and had a softness to it that absolutely did not belong on a face so sharp as Malfoy’s. 

Harry frowned and took a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “I suppose I didn’t expect to hear that from you.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.” Malfoy picked his head up from his hand to look more directly at Harry. “I have no problem in admitting that.”

Harry looked away and muttered, “Is that a vampire trait?” 

“Not exactly, but it did come with the Change.” 

Harry didn’t have time to unpack all of that, so instead he said. “So, Malfoy, start any uprisings lately?”

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed, the sound was light and musical and made Harry’s ears tingle in an odd way. Somehow he found himself smiling at Malfoy. 

“You get right to it, don’t you, Potter?” 

Harry rubbed at his beard, and Malfoy’s eyes tracked the movement. “Saves time. Easier than playing games.” 

At that Malfoy’s grin turned a little sharp. “Oh, but Potter, I do so love a game.”

“Well, that’s fairly obvious, Malfoy, seeing as you’ve failed to answer my question again.”

“I would hardly say I’ve caused an uprising.”

“Then what would you call it?” 

“Progress,” Malfoy said simply. “Equal rights.”

Harry snorted. “Equal rights? That’s rich, coming from you.” 

Malfoy didn’t react, not really. He murmured, “Isn’t it just?” and continued to smile that serene little smile he’d been wearing most of the evening, but still, Harry had the feeling he was heading in a direction he didn’t exactly want to go. 

“So what’s the point of all this?” Harry said, trying to get them back on track. “What exactly do you want?”

Malfoy raised a brow. “Didn’t even read the report?”

Harry had, but at no point in time did the file ever state what this whole debacle was about. “I did, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Fair enough,” Malfoy said rising, he walked over to a table and picked up a thick roll of parchment and dumped it unceremoniously in Harry’s lap. 

Harry scowled as he picked up the scroll and unrolled it. He blinked at it for a moment then looked up at Malfoy and said stupidly, “This is blank.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Of course it is, Potter, do you think I’m an idiot?” Malfoy waved a hand at him and suddenly names began to appear on the paper. Harry only glared at him for a second before he looked back at the parchment. Bloody show-off. 

“What’s all this?”

“Signatures.”

“I got that, thanks, but what are they  _ for _ ?” 

“I want you to see that I have support,” Malfoy told him. “I want you to see that this isn’t just me trying to make trouble. This is a serious concern for the vampire community and we want change, enough so that we’re willing to go about getting it the  _ proper _ way.” Harry heard the unspoken alternative loud and clear.

“Okay, that’s a good start,” Harry admitted. “So what would you like changed?”

“We would like to be classified as humans.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me rephrase; we would like to be taken off the list of magical creatures and instead be treated as normal wizardkind. We would also like a representative at the Ministry to lobby for our interests.” 

Harry sat back, a bit stumped. He had assumed that Malfoy wanted to bring back vampire royalty or maybe ask for virgin sacrifices to feed on. But what Malfoy was asking was far too sensible, and therefore much more of a risk. 

“That’s a big ask,” Harry finally said diplomatically. 

Malfoy nodded. “I’m aware.”

Even so, Harry still wasn’t keen on telling Malfoy no to his face. Malfoy watched him as he ran through possible variations of ‘absolutely not’ and their outcomes. When none seemed to work, Harry decided, if anything, Malfoy might appreciate his candor and not eat him, or whatever vampires did when they were angry. “I’m going to be honest with you, there’s no way that can happen.”

“Is that so?” Malfoy’s voice hardened, and his eyes along with it. Harry did not like the look on Malfoy’s face at all. 

“I just mean, it’s too much too soon,” Harry backtracked. “With something like this, we need to start with baby steps.” 

Malfoy seemed to consider that for a moment, and the ice that Harry saw in his eyes melted away. “I suppose you have a point.” Malfoy turned to look into the fire; he was statue-still, a look of concentration on his face, and for the first time, he actually looked like the vampire he was supposed to be. He was silent for so long, Harry started to wonder if Malfoy even remembered he was in the room. 

“Make us Beings,” Malfoy said abruptly. Harry startled and Malfoy smirked at him. 

“What?”

“Raise our status from Spirit to Being.” 

Harry thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t an outrageous demand, and would at least give vampires  _ some  _ rights. As Spirits, they were considered non-people, and they didn’t have any recourse when faced with discrimination, when crimes were committed against them, or when they were killed. As Beings they’d at least be able to file an Auror report if they needed to, and be hired. 

“I think,” Harry said slowly, “That that could be an option, but I can’t make any promises. I’ll have to bring it to the Minister.” 

“Of course,” Malfoy agreed. He watched Harry for a long time, and Harry waited, growing increasingly restless under Malfoy’s unwavering gaze. There was no way Malfoy was going to let him go this easily, was there? “There is another matter,” Malfoy said finally. 

Harry sighed. There was the other shoe. “I figured as much. What is it?”

“It’s a matter of life and death,” Malfoy said seriously. 

Harry snorted. “You’re already dead.”

“I didn’t mean for me.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“So what is it?”

Malfoy stood up then and went over to the desk where he had picked up the scroll and began shuffling some papers. He spoke with his back to Harry. “We need to eat, just like anyone else. There are places we can go, Muggle places normally, but the risk is high. We’d like to start a programme of sorts, more of a business, really.”

Harry blanched. Malfoy really did want virgin sacrifices. 

Malfoy turned back around and leaned against the desk, ignoring the look of horror on Harry’s face. “We’d like to open a place, places maybe, where those who are willing could come to be fed on.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Like a club, but for feeding. Everyone knows what they’re getting into that way.” 

“Why would anyone agree to do that?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and suddenly Malfoy was behind him, his mouth impossibly close to Harry’s ear. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it would feel like?” Malfoy whispered, and Harry shuddered. “They say it feels freeing, like falling, like floating. You’re powerless in the face of it, you have no choice but to feel.” Harry felt heat rising from his chest, fanning out and making his limbs tingle and his head feel hazy. 

“It brings you to the edge and it takes  _ everything _ and gives it back two-fold. And all you can do is surrender to that completely.” Harry’s breath quickened and Malfoy chuckled. “You like that, don’t you?” 

“I,” Harry started, then shook his head, trying to clear away the fog.

“What do you say, Harry? Want me to bite you?” Malfoy’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “Do you want to be inside me?” 

Harry was reaching for a reason to say no, but with every nerve in his body singing  _ yes, yes, yes, _ it was no wonder he was coming up empty. What was the worst thing that could happen? And what Malfoy was offering sounded appealing, to say the least. 

_ Then say yes.  _ The thought came from somewhere deep in Harry’s mind and he realised, it wasn’t  _ his _ . 

Harry pushed at the voice and before Harry could ask Malfoy what he was playing at, he was back on the chaise lounge as if he’d been there all along, watching Harry with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Harry adjusted himself in the chair, and now that his mind was clear, he was suddenly very aware of the blood pooling south and very thankful that his skin was dark enough that the heat didn’t show on his cheeks. 

“So, it would be run like any other business,” Malfoy said, while Harry got his breathing under control. “Just like any other club or pub, but of course the drink would be slightly different. Everything would be above board.”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do,” Harry said standing up. He couldn’t sit here any longer and let Malfoy just  _ look _ at him like this. 

“One last condition.”  

Harry sighed. “Malfoy, I’m going to have a hard enough time bringing this up as it is.”

“I don’t think this one is a matter for the Minister,” Malfoy replied. 

Harry did not like the sound of that at all, but still, he said. “What is it?”

“I want to feed on you.”

Harry was at a loss for words. He stared, opening and closing his mouth at Malfoy, and all the while Malfoy simply grinned up at him. “You— _ what _ ?”

“ _ I vant to suck your blood _ ,” Malfoy said in a terrible Slavic accent and then  _ laughed _ like that wasn’t the most invasive thing you could ask of a person. 

“Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” 

“I—” Harry stopped short. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about it. Only that he didn’t entirely hate the idea, which surprised him. But it was Malfoy, and there was no way that Malfoy would be asking him this unless he had some kind of hidden motive. 

Harry remembered what Mrs. Oliver had said about trusting his gut. He didn’t feel like Malfoy was being anything but sincere, and he had to admit, Malfoy had been a perfect gentlemen all evening. Well, his version of one, anyway. And what Malfoy had said about how it felt, it sounded….enticing. 

But more importantly, Malfoy didn’t seem like he’d be willing to negotiate if Harry turned him down on this. Harry didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t agree. The Minister  _ and  _ Malfoy had been pretty clear about their intentions. 

“Alright,” Harry said, reaching up to undo the button of his collar. 

“No, no,” Malfoy said softly. “Not right now. You need to be properly rested and fed, first. When you come back.” 

Harry’s hands stilled. “When I come back?” 

“After you’ve seen the Minister. Say, a week from now? I’ll owl you with the details.” 

“Right,” Harry said dropping his hands. 

“So we have a deal?” Harry nodded and Malfoy moved too quickly for him to see, but then he was in front of him, hand outstretched. 

Harry paused for only a moment before shaking it. “Deal.” 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Harry took his time drawing up his report and his proposal for the Minister. It had been three days and he had yet to hear from Malfoy. In the light of the next day, Harry could see how foolish he had been to agree to such a thing. It wasn’t as if a handshake was binding, so he was perfectly within his rights to back out, but he wouldn't put it past Malfoy to have some trick up his sleeve. 

He’d gone and done exactly what everyone had warned him not to do. He’d played right into Malfoy’s hands—and if he backed out now, Malfoy would lord it over his head until the day Harry died and maybe even after. And he didn’t know if Malfoy would be content with the other things they had agreed upon. He couldn’t let Shacklebolt send in another group of Aurors to “take care of things” because he’d been an impulsive idiot. 

He was also unsure of how exactly to broach Malfoy’s other requests with the Minister. It was no secret that Shacklebolt was wary of new policies after the initial rearranging of the Ministry following the war. New laws that would primarily affect only one sect of people (or creatures, in this case) were met with scepticism and a critical eye. On the one hand, his thoroughness had really cut down on corruption, on the other, policy change was slow-moving. 

But, Harry figured, after the disaster that was Shacklebolt’s first attempt to quell the uprising, he would have to at least be willing to negotiate. Harry sighed and pushed the paperwork aside. It could wait until tomorrow. 

He checked the clock and realised he wasn’t going to get any more work done here, so he shoved a few files into his bag and decided to call it a day. 

“Headed home?” Mrs. Oliver asked when Harry stepped into the reception area. 

“Yeah, and you should have been gone hours ago,” Harry chided. “It’s well past seven now.” 

“Is it?” Mrs. Oliver asked innocently. “My, where has the time gone?”

Harry chuckled as she pretended to be shocked by the time on the wall. Mrs. Oliver had strong feelings about leaving Harry alone in the office: no matter how many times he told her to go home, she’d stay until he was done, even if she was falling asleep at her desk. He kind of loved her for it. “Come on, I’ll walk you down.” 

“Why thank you, Mr. Potter.” She gathered up her things while Harry called the lift. Once they were in the lift, she turned to him with a steely eye. “You haven’t been sleeping again.”

Harry sighed. “That obvious?” 

“No,” she told him. “But I know what to look for.” 

“It’s nothing serious,” Harry told her. “Just with this case…”

“The vampires, you mean.” 

“Right,” Harry replied. “It’s a bit more complicated than I thought.” 

“All cases are complicated, Mr. Potter, but that’s no excuse for you to neglect yourself.” 

Harry knew she meant well, but the implication that he wasn’t taking care of himself annoyed him. It wasn’t like he was purposely staying up at night to work on cases. He didn’t let them take over his life, and he didn’t obsess over every little detail that he could have missed when things went downhill. Not like when he was an Auror. Sure, he brought a file or two home with him, but that was mainly paperwork. Fill-in-the-blank. Things he could work on when his mind wouldn’t turn off and let him get some sleep. 

“I’m not neglecting myself,” Harry said tersely. “Some weeks are better than others. This just isn’t a good week.” 

Mrs. Oliver’s face softened a bit as the lift doors opened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, I suppose I overstepped.”

Harry sighed and tugged at his beard. “It’s alright, Mrs. Oliver. I appreciate your concern, really.” 

Mrs. Oliver smiled at him as they got in the queue for the Floos. “Well, you can always count on me and Ms. Granger for that.” Harry laughed as she stepped up to the Floo. “Have a good night, Mr. Potter. I hope you get some rest.”

Harry nodded and returned the sentiment. He watched Mrs. Oliver disappear before turning around and heading for the Apparition point. His flat wasn’t equipped with a fireplace, something that Ron always bemoaned. Hermione had offered to call someone to install it, but Harry liked it without one. He had chosen a Muggle flat specifically because he hadn’t wanted any Wizarding features. Harry could always feel the hum of their magic and it kept him on edge. He had enough buzzing in his head already, thanks very much. 

Muggle flats were quieter, and, seeing as he was the only Wizard around, it was easier to detect possible threats. Plus, he liked the commute, as short as it was. His preferred Apparition point was about a ten-minute walk from his flat. Sometimes Harry wondered what would happen if he turned left instead of right in the mornings. If instead of Apparating into work, he went to the train station. He could get on a train and go to Paris, see the Eiffel Tower, eat a macaron, then get on another train on and off and on and off until he ended up on a beach somewhere looking out over the South China Sea with a coconut in his hand and no one giving him a second glance when he asked for a little paper umbrella.  

It was just a silly fantasy, but it was nice to think about on his walk to work. 

Harry entered his flat and kicked his shoes off before setting his bag down and shrugging off his cloak. He shoved his shoes and cloak into the closet, picked up his bag, and went into the main sitting area. He tossed his bag onto the couch and frowned at the coffee mug he had left sitting on the coffee table that morning. Harry tried his best to keep his place clean, though if you asked Hermione, the word she would use would probably be more along the lines of spartan. He grabbed the mug on his way to the kitchen. 

Harry had to admit that his place lacked a lot of personal touches, but he lived alone and was rarely there. What more did he need than a few photographs on the end table? He supposed a plant would liven up the place, but he’d tried that once, and it died within a week. Perhaps he should speak with Neville about something a bit more hardy.

But there was nothing for it now. Harry set the mug in the sink, pulled out a frozen steak pie from the freezer and tossed it into the microwave. While it cooked, he clicked on the TV and flicked through the channels until he settled on an episode of The Office. The microwave dinged and Harry pulled the pie out and poked it. The sides were hot to the touch, but the middle was still fairly cold. Harry shrugged, placed it on a plate, and went to sit on the couch. 

When Harry finished his steak pie, he grabbed his bag and pulled out some papers he should have finished a few days ago and set to work while the telly played on in the background. 

He was halfway through his second page when he heard the knock on the window. It was a bit late for Ron or Hermione to be Owling him—if anything, Hermione would call, seeing as they both had Muggle cell phones. He supposed it could be work. Harry cautiously opened his curtains to find a huge horned owl staring at him with unblinking eyes. Slowly, Harry opened the window and the owl came swooping in, causing Harry to duck with a yelp as it flew around the room. 

“Hey!” Harry yelled when it went into the kitchen. He heard a crash and went to chase after it, but it was already flying back out, a package of biscuits from the top of his fridge in its talons. “You little-!” Harry shouted. The owl didn’t even spare him a glance as it dropped a letter and flew out the window with its loot. 

Harry went over and shut the window with a huff before stomping off to the kitchen to see what havoc the owl had wreaked. The bag of crisps that had been sitting next to the biscuits was on the floor, along with his espresso maker.  He put the kitchen back in order, grumbling the whole time before heading back into the living room and snatching the letter the owl had dropped. 

“Of bloody fucking  _ course, _ ” Harry muttered when he saw the loopy scrawl on the letter. Only Malfoy would have an owl as rude as that one. 

_ Potter, _

_ As per our agreement, here are the things you need to do prior to our meeting: _

__ 1\. Drink plenty of water. Absolutely no caffeine within 12 hours of meeting. You will taste like Marmite and stale cigarettes. _ _

_ 2\. Eat an iron-rich meal. Spinach and legumes are good, as are organ meats. No  _ _ GARLIC. _

_ 3\. Inform me of any and all injuries, especially if they involve open wounds. _

_ 4\. Best not to wear a white shirt. _

_ I’ll see you on Friday at 7. _

_ -D.Malfoy _

Harry snorted and tossed the letter aside.  _ I’ll see you Friday at 7. _ A bit presumptuous for Malfoy to assume he was free Friday at seven. Harry was, but that was completely beside the point. Harry was already tempted to down several cups of espresso con panna before meeting Malfoy, but then he had enough trouble sleeping as it was. 

He glanced at his discarded paperwork and decided it could wait until tomorrow. Instead, he watched a few more episodes of The Office before heading to bed. He went through his nightly routine slowly. Routine was important, or so he was told. By the time he was ready to get in bed, he was already feeling drowsy and wanted to skip the relaxation exercises, but routine was routine. 

Harry laid down on the bed and tried to center his breathing, whatever that meant, and thought of calming peaceful images. But now that his eyes were closed his earlier drowsiness vanished, replaced with plain tiredness. His mind began to whisper about things that he needed to do, things that had been done, things he should have done.  Harry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, settling in for a long night. 

—

“You told him we’d do  _ what _ ?” Shacklebolt gaped at Harry from across his desk.

Harry resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Shacklebolt’s voice was pounding like a hangover headache through Harry’s sleepless brain. “I didn’t tell him we’d do anything, I told him I’d bring it up with you, which I am doing. Right now.”

Shacklebolt shook his head, mouth still hanging open. “This is too much.”

“He wanted more. I talked him down.”

“You’re seriously entertaining this?” 

Harry sighed. “It’s a good compromise, not to mention the right thing to do.”  _ Making them humans would be the right thing to do _ , a thought that sounded suspiciously like Hermione floated through his mind. 

“The right thing to do,” Shacklebolt repeated. 

“Look, Minister,” Harry began but Shacklebolt pressed on. 

“Was it the right thing to do when they went about turning others into their kind for soldiers? When they murdered innocent people? How about when they burned towns to the ground just for fun? When they sided with Voldemort?”

“They wouldn’t have sided with Voldemort if the Ministry had listened to them in the first place!” Harry exploded. 

“They’re dangerous,” Shacklebolt proclaimed. 

Harry felt his magic crackle around his fingers at the same tired argument he’d heard countless times and hissed, “So are werewolves.” 

Shacklebolt sat back at that. “That’s different.” 

“How?”

“I knew him.”

“And I know Malfoy,” Harry said the words before his brain had even had time to process them.

There was a heavy silence between them and Shacklebolt opened and closed his mouth several times before he settled on, “Are you vouching for Malfoy?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

Shacklebolt looked at him a long time, whether he was studying for cracks, for insanity, for  _ Imperius,  _ Harry didn’t know. But finally, he picked up a quill and started to write on the proposal Harry had drawn up. 

“Minister?” 

“If this goes pear-shaped,” he said quietly, “It’s on both of us. No one will care that you defeated Voldemort, you understand?

Harry nodded. 

“I’m trusting you, Harry.” 

Harry felt strangely at a loss for words. “Kingsley…” 

“Go see Malfoy and have him draw up detailed business plans. I want to see them by the end of the month. Come back on Thursday and we’ll discuss registration.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Harry said, getting up at the dismissal. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Shacklebolt grumbled as Harry left the office. 

—

The next day Hermione dropped by with an armful of papers just as Harry was about to go to lunch. 

“What’s all this?”

“Romanian vampire laws and statutes,” she replied, dropping the pile on Harry’s desk. “You can look at them later, but for now we’re meeting Ron for lunch.”

“We are?” Harry asked, a bit higher than normal. 

If Hermione caught the pitch, she didn’t let on. Instead she simply hummed and left the office, not bothering to check if Harry was following. It wasn’t that Harry was  _ avoiding  _ her or Ron per se, but he knew that if his friends asked the right questions he’d either be forced to lie to them or give them such shady answers that they’d know something was up. The last thing he needed was either one of them finding out about the agreement he’d made with Malfoy. 

Harry sighed and followed her out. There was nothing for it now. 

“He wants to try this new American style diner,” Hermione told him as they rode the lift down to the Atrium. “Apparently Seamus went and said it’s like walking into a 50s film.”

“Because Seamus would know.”

“Because Seamus would know,” Hermione repeated. 

Harry shrugged. “Burgers and chips. I can deal with that.” 

The diner was within walking distance and Hermione ranted about some Muggle Russian politician and Harry made sympathetic noises in the right places until they spotted Ron hopping from foot to foot in front of the restaurant. 

“Mate!” Ron came bounding over and pulled Harry into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you.” 

“You too, Ron, it’s been too long.” 

“You two literally saw each other last week,” Hermione cut in.

Ron pulled out of the hug and frowned at her. “Yeah, and it’s been too long.”

“Yeah, Hermione, way too long.” 

“Boys,” Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever, let’s get some chips!” Ron shouted. 

“Chips! Chips! Chips!” Harry chanted and Ron joined in. 

“I am embarrassed to call you my friends.” Hermione turned and walked to the entrance.

“I’m your husband!” Ron called after her.

Hermione didn’t even break stride as she said, “Don’t remind me.” 

After they had ordered, and the waitress had brought their drinks, Ron said, “So, anything you want to share?”

Harry nearly choked on his milkshake. “What do you mean?”

Ron shrugged, very casually while Hermione pointedly stirred her coffee. “Just wondering if anything new has happened.”

Harry pushed his milkshake away and glared. “Well, it’s a good bloody job neither of you are Aurors, isn’t it, with the way you two gossip like old hens.”

“I didn’t tell him!” Hermione huffed then narrowed her eyes at Ron. “I told you  _ not _ to bring it up.”

Ron turned to her. “Oh, he’s going to go negotiate with the bloke who tormented him for six years and I’m not supposed to bring it up?” 

“It’s not like Harry didn’t antagonise him right back.”

“Yes, but Harry isn’t a vamp--”

“ _ Be quiet, _ ” Harry hissed. “Jesus bloody Christ, you two, why don’t you just take out an ad in the Prophet?” 

“Well, that was uncalled for,” Hermione said, just as Ron murmured, “Sorry.” 

“In any case,” Harry cut in, glaring at them. “If Hermione didn’t tell you, who did?”

“Charlie, actually?”

“What?”

“Well, it was in the papers over there. I kind of just put the two together.” 

Harry sat back with a sigh. “Figures.” 

“Look, mate, I’m just worried about you is all. You haven’t been...the best recently, and you know how  _ he _ is.”  

“The best,” Harry echoed acidly. “I haven’t been  _ my best _ .”

“Harry.” 

“We’re just worried about you. You two aren’t exactly bosom buddies.”

Harry felt his anger deflate and scrubbed a hand over his face before tugging at his beard. “Look, I get it. I promise, I’m being careful,” Harry lied. “I haven’t done anything too stupid.”

“ _ Too _ stupid?” Hermione repeated shrilly. 

Harry gave her a cheeky grin and was saved from saying anything further when the food arrived. 

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Friday night at 6:55 PM saw Harry making the trek up to the doors of Malfoy Manor once more. Just like the last time, the gates opened as soon as he approached and there was a house-elf waiting for him. Harry followed the elf down a different hallway to a room that looked almost exactly the same as the one he’d been in previously. 

“Potter, so lovely to see you,” Malfoy greeted him in a silky voice when Harry came into the room. “You look…appetising.” Harry snorted. 

“You talk to all your dinners like that, or just me?” 

“Technically you’re breakfast,” Malfoy pointed out. “But if you’d like me to treat you like dinner, that can be arranged.” 

The way Malfoy’s eyes flashed made Harry's stomach flip was not something he cared to explore right now, so instead he said, “Well, I hate to talk business before breakfast, but we have some things to discuss.” 

Harry pulled out a few sheets of parchment and handed them to Malfoy, before making his way over to sit on a nearby loveseat. “These are sample registration forms. Before we move any further with this, you need to make sure that the vampires that have your support are willing to sign these. I understand admitting to and registering as a vampire seems risky, but there is no way the Minister will move your status to Being without at least having some idea of who you all are.” 

Malfoy looked over the parchment carefully. “While I do understand and appreciate where you’re coming from, how can I be certain this won’t just be used against us?” 

Harry sighed and tugged at his beard. “Honestly? You can’t. But I trust Shacklebolt, at the very least, and he is willing to work with us on this—so we have to be equally willing to work with him.”

Malfoy was quiet for a very long time, his unblinking gaze never wavering from Harry. Harry shifted under the stare, but never looked away, trying to figure out what he had said to cause that reaction in Malfoy. 

“I see,” was all Malfoy said when he finally turned back to the parchment. 

“They have these registries in other places, you know,” Harry pressed on. “Romania, for example.” 

“I’m aware,” Malfoy murmured, flipping through the sheets.

Harry chuckled, remembering the conversation he’d had with Hermione about it. “I suppose you would.” 

“Why is that?”

“You caused a bit of a stir over there,” Harry explained. “Hermione works for the Department of International Cooperation and she got a fair few calls about it.” 

Malfoy smirked. “Is that right?” 

“Yeah. They were afraid you were going to start something up.”

“They needn't have worried,” Malfoy said, dropping the papers onto the desk in the corner of the room. “I was simply doing research.”

“Better safe than sorry I suppose.” There was a lull where Malfoy said nothing, only waited for Harry to keep speaking and Harry felt pressed to oblige. “The Minister would also like to see a detailed plan of your…feeding club?” 

That drew a snort from Malfoy. “It’s just a club.”

“Where you feed.”

“Do normal clubs not offer refreshments?” 

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then it’s just a club,” Malfoy stated firmly. “It just caters to a different group of people.”

Harry held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, Malfoy. Sorry.”

“Speaking of refreshments,” Malfoy said moving slowly towards Harry. “Did you follow my instructions?”

“I did. And might I add that your owl is a right bastard?” 

Malfoy chuckled. “I can’t argue with that.” 

“He stole my biscuits,” Harry said, leaning back as Malfoy came into his space. Suddenly the idea that Malfoy was going to  _ bite his neck  _ and  _ suck his blood _ was all too real.  

“Did he now?” Malfoy was close enough now that Harry could see his fangs extending and Harry could hear his own heartbeat somewhere up near his throat. 

“The whole packet,” Harry squeaked. 

“What a bastard,” Malfoy breathed, and before Harry could call the whole thing off Malfoy leaned in and sank his teeth into Harry’s neck. 

The first thought Harry had was that Malfoy was a fucking liar because his bite  _ hurt _ . But the second one he had was that he wanted it to keep hurting forever because this was the best type of hurting he’d ever felt. It was exactly as Malfoy had described it and more. 

Harry felt like he was weightless, like he’d flown too high too quickly, and his blood was rushing from his feet back to the rest of his body. And just as quickly he was falling, but it was slow and thick like he was falling through water, and gravity and buoyancy were warring on where his body should be. 

Harry couldn’t exactly feel the blood leaving his body, but he could feel it moving. He could feel it flowing through his veins hot and quick, making his hair stand up on end. It made him want to run and fight and fuck all at the same time. Harry had never felt more  _ on _ than he had right at this moment. He never wanted it to end. 

But soon, far too soon, Malfoy was pulling away and Harry was clawing at him, trying to keep him in place. 

“Hush, Potter,” Malfoy soothed. “That’s enough for today.”

“Enough?” Harry repeated drunkenly.

“Yes, enough,” Malfoy repeated. “You’ve done enough.” 

Something in Harry stirred at the statement and he sighed, going boneless so that Malfoy could guide him into laying down. “Feels nice.”

“It usually does.” Harry’s eyes were half closed but he could still see the slash of a red smirk on Malfoy’s face. 

“Always like this?”

“Not exactly. It’s usually like this the first time, though.”

Harry nodded, letting his eyes close completely. “Will it feel good next time?”

There was a pause before Malfoy answered. “It’ll still feel good.”

“That’s good.” Harry pawed at his face, his limbs suddenly too heavy, and he couldn’t get his fingers to grasp his glasses. But then they were being plucked from his face, and his arms were guided back down to his sides. 

“Rest,” Malfoy murmured, and Harry felt like it was more than a suggestion. So, he did. 

—

When Harry woke up, it was slow. His brain began to process a few things: he was warm, something smelled like jasmine, and he was definitely not in his own bed. Harry noted these things but found that they did not alarm him. The next thing he noticed was that he felt…refreshed. 

Harry opened his eyes and was met with an unfamiliar ceiling. He turned his head slightly and found Malfoy sitting in an armchair, reading a book. 

“You’re awake,” he said without looking up.

“Yeah,” Harry rasped, then cleared his throat. “What happened?”

Malfoy did look up then. “You fell asleep.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fucking got that, thanks. How long was I out for?”

“You don’t sleep a lot, do you?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your blood tasted tired.”

“I taste tired?” Harry squawked. 

“Exhausted, really.”

“I know what tired means!” Harry pulled himself up to a sitting position. This was no argument to have while laying down. “Where the bloody hell do you get off telling people they taste tired?”

“When it’s true,” Malfoy replied. “Your blood is a bit stale.”

“Stale!” Harry repeated at a pitch that had Malfoy covering his ears and glaring. “You’re lucky you got a free meal!”

“Blood doesn’t exactly cost anything,” Malfoy pointed out.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t usually walk up to your front door, ring the bell, and say ‘Hi, I’m for dinner’ now does it?” 

“Breakfast,” Malfoy corrected. “Oh, Potter, it’s always so much fun with you.” 

“Our ideas of a good time are really different.”

“I’m sure we have a few hobbies in common.” Malfoy gave him a lewd grin that left nothing up for interpretation.

“I’m leaving,” Harry announced. This was too much for one night. He stood up and immediately his legs buckled underneath him and he sat right back down. 

“Here,” Malfoy said, tossing a vial at him. Harry managed to catch it and looked for a label. When he found none he glanced back up at Malfoy. “It’s just blood replenisher. I would have given it to you earlier, but the first time always makes people a bit…” he trailed off and Harry really didn’t need him to finish. 

“Thanks, I suppose.” Harry downed it without another thought.

“Really? Not even going to check?” 

“Well, if you poisoned me this would be a really stupid place to do it,” Harry pointed out. “People know I’m here.”

“Do they?” Malfoy asked. They didn’t, but Malfoy didn’t need to know that. Shouldn’t know that. 

“Is that the time?” Harry said suddenly, looking up at a clock on the wall that read five in the morning. “How long did I sleep?” 

“About seven hours.” Seven hours was more than Harry got on any good night. “As I said, you don’t sleep much, do you?” 

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, outside of the context that I’d like it if you could not taste like week-old bread.” Harry snorted and Malfoy continued on, “You  _ can’t  _ sleep, can you?” 

“It’s not like I don’t try.” Malfoy watched him for a long time but said nothing more. “Right, well, I’m going.” Harry searched for the bag he had brought the papers in and suddenly Malfoy was by his side, holding it. 

Harry took it with a muttered, “Thanks,” and headed for the door. 

“Oh, and Potter?” 

Harry groaned. Malfoy always did this. “What?”

“Try at least licking a vegetable, would you?”

Harry gave him the two finger salute and left with Malfoy’s laughter still ringing in his ears.

—

When Harry got home he decided to lay down for a few hours, because, routine. His head had barely hit the pillow before he was falling asleep. He woke a few hours later feeling absolutely  _ ravenous _ . 

He considered getting takeaway, but he wanted something now. He got up and rummaged around the bare contents of his refrigerator. He had some leftover rice from a takeaway a few days ago, eggs, tomatoes and a questionable head of garlic, but he didn’t think garlic really went bad. He roughly chopped the tomatoes and plucked off three cloves of garlic to slice. Then he remembered what Malfoy had said about his blood tasting like stale bread and plucked off two more cloves. Now it can taste like stale garlic bread, he thought smugly. 

Harry scrambled the eggs with oil in a pan, threw in the tomatoes and garlic as well as a pinch of sugar and poured his mixture over his reheated rice. He left the egg pan to soak and wandered into the living room to catch up on the news while he ate. He was halfway through his meal when he realised he felt alert instead of the sluggish sort of tired he normally felt when he managed to sleep for more than four hours at a time.

—

Sunday came and Harry headed to the Burrow. 

“Hiya, Harry,” Ginny greeted when Harry came in the front door. 

“Gin,” Harry went over and gave her a one-armed hug. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me either,” Ginny admitted. “But Rollins decided we could take a weekend.” 

“Harry, is that you?” Molly called from somewhere in the house.

“Better go say hi to Mum,” Ginny said. Harry gave her a tight smile and left. Though he and Ginny had been over for ages, and he loved her dearly, it was still a bit hard for him to see her without having mentally prepared first. After Hogwarts, they had tried to pick up where they’d left off, and it had been good. 

Until it hadn’t. Harry got caught up in his Auror work, and Ginny’s Quidditch career took off. They started to spend less time with each other and eventually Harry woke up one morning and realised he hadn’t seen or heard from Ginny in two weeks. He then realised he hadn’t tried to contact her either. 

Their break up was a mutual decision. Ron took it the worst, worried that Harry would stop coming round the Burrow, and he did for a while, but eventually, they both got over it enough and now Harry was a regular fixture once more.

“Hello, dear,” Molly said, kissing Harry on the cheek as she stirred something on the hob. “We missed you last week.”

“Yeah, sorry, I had a work thing.”

“On a Sunday?” Molly asked scandalised. 

Harry chuckled. “Ah, no it was actually Saturday night.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then.” Molly nodded. “Met anyone new?”

Harry suppressed a groan. While he was grateful that Molly hadn’t taken his and Ginny’s breakup to heart, he sometimes wished they were still together just so she’d stop asking him about his love life. 

“Only beasts,” Harry deflected, and Molly laughed at the tired joke. 

“Well, go get yourself cleaned up for supper and see to it that the boys do the same. They’re out back.” 

“Right.” Harry kissed her cheek and left the kitchen. 

Ron, George, Bill, and Percy were outside playing some version of Muggle footie, but Harry couldn’t tell who was winning, them or the ball. 

“Alright, Harry!” George called. 

“Alright,” Harry called back. “What’s all this?”

“It’s footie!”

Harry raised an eyebrow as the ball came up and smacked Percy in the face. Everyone started laughing and Percy wiped the mud off of his reddening face before announcing he wasn’t playing anymore. 

“Want to take Percy’s place?” Ron asked. 

“He already has,” George joked and Bill elbowed him. 

“I would, but your mum says to come in and wash up for supper.” 

“Food?” Bill perked up.

“Food,” Harry confirmed and then there was a great chanting of “Food! Food! Food!” all through the house. Molly shouted for them to quiet down, but Ginny joined in and then Arthur and Molly were trying not to laugh and Hermione was rolling her eyes but smiling, and Percy tried to bang on the table to get them to shut up, but they only started to make a beat out of it. And it was absolutely perfect. 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry couldn’t sleep again. He figured that whatever blessed star he had been under last week had finally shifted. It had been nice while it had lasted, he supposed. 

Shacklebolt had been calling him almost hourly, it seemed, to discuss every single sentence of Malfoy’s proposal. By the time Friday rolled around the last thing he wanted to do was go see Malfoy. 

“You’ve slept,” Malfoy said when Harry arrived. “Not the full week though.”

“What?” Harry narrowed his eyes. “Did you do something to me?”

“Nothing we didn’t agree upon,” Malfoy said simply. “But you’re further gone than I thought.”

Harry let out a harsh puff of air. “What the bloody fucking hell does that mean?” Why did Malfoy have to be so cryptic all the time? Could he not just say what he meant and get on with it? 

Malfoy looked delighted at the outburst. “Oh, Potter, a little on edge are we?”

Harry had had enough. “Are we doing this? Otherwise, I don’t really see any point in sitting here and not talking about whatever the fuck it is we aren’t talking about.” 

“You never let me have any fun, Potter,” Malfoy pouted, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “But fine, have it your way.”

“What way!” 

“You don’t sleep.”

“Not exactly a revelation.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine, you don’t sleep because you can’t sleep. You can’t sleep because you can’t get out of your own head.” 

Harry started. “How exactly do you know that? Have you been poking about in my head?”

“No more than usual, but I wouldn’t need to. It’s clear why you can’t.”

Harry huffed and threw himself in a chair. Malfoy gave him a look and Harry placed his booted feet on the coffee table for good measure, shooting him a smug smile. 

Malfoy glared at the boots but said nothing about it. Instead, he said, “You were in a war. Not only that, you were the instrumental player in that war. At seventeen. And then you joined the Aurors, a notoriously high-pressure job, and left it due to ‘health reasons,’ which is code for a nervous breakdown.”

“Hey! That’s private!”

“It’s actually not, it’s a matter of public record.” Malfoy lifted his own booted foot and shoved Harry’s off the table. 

Harry blinked. “You checked up on me?”

“I wanted to get a better sense of what I was dealing with here.” 

“And what exactly are you dealing with here?” 

“You need help, and I’m willing to give it.”

“I’ve seen a mind healer, thank you very much, and I highly doubt that you are any more qualified—”

“Not that kind of help,” Malfoy said, standing and walking over to the fireplace. “How have you felt this past week?”

“I don’t see why it’s any business of yours.” 

“Did you feel like you had more energy? Like you were less restless? Sleeping better? More focussed?” Harry had felt some of those things, but it didn’t seem like Malfoy needed him to answer, so he didn’t. “You asked me that first night why people would want to have their blood sucked. It’s true most people do it for that initial high, and the pleasure that likely follows it. But some do it for what happens after, when they go back to their lives.”

Harry thought about that for a moment. “You mean to say that it’s like a detox, of sorts?” 

Malfoy smiled at him, and if Harry didn’t know any better he’d almost say he looked proud. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t more people do it?” Although, now that Harry thought about it, it might not be such common knowledge. He hadn’t known, and he was supposed to be an expert on magical creatures. 

“The obvious risks.”

“Which are?”

“Getting attached to a vampire.” Malfoy paused and then gave Harry a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Having a vampire get attached to them.” 

There was a long silence then, and Malfoy watched Harry the whole time, seemingly waiting for something. When it never came he said, “So, do you want my help?”

“Help with what?”

“Getting out of your own head.”

“You’re not going to go in my head, are you?”

Malfoy hesitated. “Not really, not unless I need to.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, but if you can’t get out of your own way, I can…nudge you along, so to speak.” 

Harry definitely did  _ not _ like the idea of someone else in his head. He was still shit at Occlumency, though admittedly better than he had been during his school days, and Malfoy was obviously skilled at Legilimency. Who knew how long he’d been in Harry’s head before he made himself known on that first day? 

“You’re thinking too much,” Malfoy said. 

Harry frowned at him and opened his mouth to reply, but the words died in his throat. Suddenly the air around Malfoy had changed and Harry couldn’t exactly place what happened, but the room felt heavier. 

Malfoy looked directly in Harry’s eyes and said, “Come here.” 

Harry’s legs jerked and suddenly the only thing he could think was  _ listen _ . Harry shook his head, trying to clear the thought. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t fight it,” Malfoy told him. “Just do it.” 

“Why should I?”

“Because you want to. You’re tired, aren’t you, Potter? Tired of thinking about every little thing, making decision after decision, everyone always asking you what to do. You’re so tired you can’t even sleep. You’ve been trying so hard, but it’s never enough for them, is it?”

Harry nodded, a lump of something in his throat preventing him from speaking.

“It should be though. You’ve done enough, Potter. You don’t have to worry so much. You don’t even have to think. All you have to do is  _ listen _ . So, don’t fight it. Don’t fight me. Just come here.”

Harry stood then and walked slowly over to Malfoy. 

“There you go, Potter.” Malfoy reached up and ran a finger down Harry’s cheek. Harry felt his eyes flutter closed. “That’s better, isn’t it? Just let me do all the work.” 

Harry let Malfoy tip his head to the side, and then there were sharp teeth at his neck. It didn’t hurt as much as the first time, but still, there was a little sting as they broke the skin. 

That weightless feeling returned, and Harry felt himself go higher and higher, and this time he didn’t come back down. But it was nice up there, drifting; his mind felt narrowed down to one single purpose, one single feeling, a blissful warmth. From where Harry was floating, he didn’t think anything else really mattered but this. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so light. 

But too soon, Malfoy was pulling away and guiding him down into a chair. “You did such a good job, Potter, so good for me,” he hummed, starting to step back; Harry made an embarrassingly hurt noise in the back of his throat at the thought of Malfoy moving away from him. 

The reaction startled Harry. His earlier feeling of weightlessness turned to a sensation of heaviness; Harry was overwhelmed with how much he wanted Malfoy near him. Had Malfoy slipped him something? Was this just part of the vampire Pull? Had Malfoy managed to get him under  _ Imperio _ ?

“Alright, sweetheart, you’re alright,” Malfoy murmured, and Harry could hear the undercurrent of urgency. “Look at me.”

Harry looked up and Malfoy was looking right back at him, his gaze steady. “Breathe,” Malfoy told him. He took a few deep breaths until he finally felt like his heart wasn’t going to try to make an escape through his throat and instead of the buzzing in his head, there was a gentle hum. 

“That’s it,” Malfoy said. “I knew you could do it. You did so well, Potter.” 

Harry shivered and looked up. It was like he was seeing Malfoy for the first time. Those high aristocratic cheeks, the shine of his eyes, the red of his lips, which Harry wasn’t sure were always so red, all coming together like some 18th-century portrait. Harry smiled softly up at him, his hand moving up to cup Malfoy’s cheek. 

“You’re so pretty,” Harry whispered and Malfoy grinned at him. Harry didn’t even mind that Malfoy had blood between his teeth. 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, then ran his thumb across Malfoy’s lip, like he’d wanted to that first day, resting on the fullest part of his bottom lip. Malfoy opened his mouth, his eyes never leaving Harry’s and took the thumb between his lips. He sucked and Harry shuddered. 

Malfoy was still watching him when Harry let his thumb slip from his lips. He couldn’t help but imagine what they would look like wrapped around other parts of his body. 

“Is that what you want?” 

“What?” Harry asked dazedly. 

“Do you want me to suck you,” he paused, letting his hand trail down to cup Harry’s groin. “Here?” 

It wasn’t until Malfoy put his hand on him that Harry realised he was achingly hard. And here Malfoy was offering to suck him, and Harry had never wanted anything more. He nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. 

Malfoy moved so quickly Harry couldn’t even really tell what happened; one second Malfoy was running his nails over the skin of Harry’s hips and the next he was swallowing him down whole. Harry’s hips jerked up, but Malfoy’s hands held him down firmly and wasn’t  _ that  _ something. Harry didn’t have time to figure out why that made his dick jump like it did, because Malfoy, who was clearly skilled at sucking, was blowing him like it was what he did for a living. 

Harry looked down and Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to look at him, and he  _ smirked  _ around the dick in his mouth and that was all it took. Harry didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed at how quickly he had come, because while Malfoy had swallowed most of it down, he was currently swiping his finger through the last few droplets of come that clung to Harry’s cock head and licking them like they were spun sugar. 

“Delicious,” Malfoy said. 

“Not like stale bread?” Harry asked stupidly. 

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Malfoy stood up so he was once again hovering over Harry in the chair. He bent down with deliberate slowness, obviously trying to give Harry ample time to back out. Harry reached up and pulled him down, pressing their lips together firmly. 

Harry didn’t know if he should be weirded out by the taste of blood and come in Malfoy’s mouth, but he wasn’t. Malfoy kissed like he sucked, it was all-consuming and left Harry feeling dizzy and slightly out of his own body. When they pulled apart, Harry’s eyes were unfocussed and Malfoy was smiling down at him. 

“Beautiful.”

“Huh?” 

“You. You’re so pretty like this. Soft and willing,” Malfoy explained and the words made Harry unbearably hot. “I bet you’d look even prettier without all these clothes on, spread out for me so I can see  _ everything.  _ So I can touch you everywhere and make you feel so good. I bet you’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you, Potter? Wouldn’t you like me to take care of you?”

Harry tried to find some reason to dispute that, some reason to say he didn’t want it, but he couldn’t find anything. 

“Yes,” he whispered and let Malfoy take him to bed. 

—

In the light of day, Harry found that he was much less ashamed of what had happened with Malfoy than he had thought he would be. Sure, it was unconventional, but as Malfoy had said, plenty of people had a thing for and with vampires, and based off of the provisional business plans he’d seen, Harry was hardly the only person in London with the same inclinations. It was risky, of course, but Harry’s whole life had been risky, so he may as well get some pleasure out of it. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted to tell anyone about it just yet. 

“You seem chipper,” Hermione accused when he walked into her office on Tuesday afternoon. 

“I can’t be chipper?” 

“You can,” Hermione conceded. “But you were chipper at the Burrow.”

“So I can’t be chipper three days in a row,” Harry clarified, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“No.” 

Harry snorted and Hermione went on, “Chipper is an emotion felt by people who have things to be chipper about.”

The smile that had been lingering on his face slipped and Harry crossed his arms. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

Hermione gave him a sharp look, no doubt at the use of profanity, but didn’t say anything about it. “It means something must have happened to make you look chipper and as far as I know there has been nothing of interest in your life, at all, apart from your new case.” 

“You know what, I think I’ll eat in today,” Harry said, standing and heading for the door. 

“Harry—”

“I can have a life you know, outside of you and Ron and anyone else whose last name happens to be Weasley.” 

“I know that, Harry.”

“Do you?” Harry asked, rounding on her. “Because you don’t seem to think I can even be in a good mood without sending you a memo. No, obviously something happened to me, but that can’t be right, can it? Because if something happened to me of course I would tell you!”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Hermione’s voice was going to that high pitch that always grated on Harry. “I’m your friend!”

“Do you tell me every single little thing that happens to you? Because if I recall correctly, you and Ron waited an awfully long time to tell me you were getting married.”

“That’s not fair! That was a completely different situation.” 

“Was it?”

Hermione looked equal parts sheepish and offended. “Well, you had just broken things off with Ginny and then the whole Auror thing happened, and we didn’t want to—”

“Didn’t want to what? Hurt my feelings?” 

“Well, yes.”

They looked at each other--Hermione tense and defensive, and Harry angry and defensive. Finally, Harry said, “I’m going to go.”

“Harry, wait,” Hermione called as he headed for the door. “You know that we’re just worried about you.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” he said bitterly.

Hermione’s gaze hardened. “I’m not going to apologise for worrying about you. You’re my friend, and I know you may think that we’re all trying to, God, I don’t know, control you or guilt you or whatever, into doing something you don’t want to do, but that’s not what this is about.”

“Then, what’s it about?”

“I just want you to be able to talk to me.”

Harry gave her a saccharine smile and said, “Sorry, Hermione, I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” before walking out the door. 


	6. Chapter 6

Wednesday morning Harry woke from his fitful three hours of sleep in a foul mood. Before he could think any better of it, he jotted off a quick note to Malfoy asking if he would be available later and resolutely did not try to call his owl back. When he arrived at the office, Mrs. Oliver took one look at his face and headed off to the break room—to make some tea, no doubt. 

Harry found a stack of paperwork on his desk and with one glance at the first file marked “Beginning of the Year Fiscal Evaluation Assessment” he was sorely tempted to push the whole pile in the bin and pretend he’d never gotten them. Mrs. Oliver came in with his tea, which he took with a grim smile. He was grateful she seemed to understand when he needed to be left to himself. 

The day passed in a blur, with Harry barely getting up from his desk, and Mrs. Oliver coming in every so often with some sort of refreshment, and once to say that Hermione had stopped by, but he told her he was in the middle of something. He knew when he finally felt like talking to Hermione again she was going to be bitter about that, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care at that moment. As the day dragged on, he got angrier and angrier, still stewing from his conversation with Hermione, his lack of sleep, and the absolute clerical hell that was filling out financial forms. He was three-quarters of the way through his paperwork when his Unbreakable Quill broke. 

Harry stared at the quill in his hand, a certain sense of calm coming over him. Of course his Unbreakable Quill would break, why wouldn’t it? Harry dropped the quill in the bin and got up as if he were a battery-operated action figure, rather than a person, and gathered his things. 

“Mr. Potter?” Mrs. Oliver called out when Harry walked straight passed her to the lifts, bag in hand. 

Harry stopped. “I’m going home.” 

“Are you feeling alright? It’s only gone three now.” A fellow department member who was walking by stopped to watch the exchange. Mrs. Oliver gave him a sharp look as he tried to sneak back into his office as slowly as possible. 

“Is it?” Harry asked blandly. “Well, I’m still going home. And you know what, I won’t be in tomorrow, either.” 

“You won’t?”

“No, I don’t think I will. Goodnight, Mrs. Oliver.” 

“I’ll see to it that your appointments are moved.”

Harry waved over his shoulder and stepped into the lift. Harry didn’t remember how he got home, but he was there now. He left his bag and his robes by the door, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to his bedroom. The room was almost pitch dark, thanks to his blackout curtains and a little magic. Harry set his glasses down on the nightstand and crawled into bed as he waved his hand to close the bedroom door.

Now in the complete darkness of his room, Harry’s mind started back up. First, it started with a replay of his last case as an Auror, the one that had driven Harry from the field. It had been a hostage situation, a father holed up in his house with his young daughter after his wife filed for a dissolution of their bond. Harry had been a part of the team that had been sent in to de-escalate the situation, but things had gone downhill from the moment they had arrived. There had been one miscommunication and it had ended with two body bags coming out of the house. 

From there his mind drifted to his failed relationship with Ginny, and every relationship that had followed it, and then it returned back to his argument with Hermione. 

He knew in this situation he should really call his Mind Healer, that he was clearly on the edge of something here, but he just did not want to talk about his feelings right now. All he really wanted to do was sleep. Just six to eight hours of uninterrupted, restful sleep. Five hours, even. He’d settle for four. 

Harry didn’t know how long he laid there, the curtains blocking out any indication of the time, but it was dark outside when he opened the curtains to a  _ tap tap tap _ . 

Harry instantly recognised Malfoy’s bastard of an owl. He was surprised to see it until he remembered the note he had sent just that morning, although it felt like it had been days since he’d watched his owl leave. Cautiously, Harry opened the window, hoping to avoid a repeat of last time, not that there was anything the owl would want to eat in his flat. 

But as soon as the window was cracked, Malfoy’s owl rushed in, and Harry yelped in surprise. It flew around the room knocking things over in the dark before grazing Harry’s head and flying back out of the window, with something shiny in its claws. 

“Stupid bloody fucking owl!” Harry cursed, stomping over to flick on the bedroom light. He squinted against the harsh brightness and put his hand out to call for his glasses. 

Nothing came. 

Harry picked his wand up from the bedside table and tried again. “ _ Accio _ , glasses.”

Nothing. 

The shiny thing in Malfoy’s owl’s claws.

“For fuck's sake!” Harry shouted towards the window. “Fucking demon bird from Hell!” He spotted the envelope the owl had dropped and snatched it from the floor. He squinted at the note, trying to make out what the squiggly lines were, to no avail, before giving up and casting a Clear Sighted charm. 

The note was simple, and told Harry to come over whenever he saw fit. Harry sighed, regretting ever sending Malfoy the note in the first place. Even if Harry wanted to back out now, he needed his glasses. He didn’t trust Malfoy’s owl to return them in one piece. 

After a quick shower, he threw on his third best pair of jeans and a navy jumper that still smelled like fabric softener. He didn’t want to look like he was trying  _ too  _ hard. It was just Malfoy after all. This was just a physical thing. A means to an end. He just wanted to get some sleep. 

When Harry stepped into the study where Malfoy usually was, Malfoy was waiting for him, glasses in hand. “Lose something?” Malfoy smirked. 

Harry stalked over and snatched the glasses from Malfoy’s hand. “I am going to murder your bird and grind its bones for soup,” Harry growled and Malfoy laughed. 

“Armand is a bit of a cad,” Malfoy admitted. 

Harry cleaned his glasses on his jumper and snorted. “He’s stolen from me  _ twice _ .” 

“He likes you.” 

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“He’s like me, like that,” Malfoy said, and before Harry could ask about that, Malfoy pressed. “So, what brings you here?”

Right. Harry hadn’t exactly mentioned why he was coming over. His note earlier had just asked if Malfoy was free. He didn’t have any reason to be here, apart from maybe letting Malfoy feed and getting fucked. Harry wandered over to his preferred chair, trying to buy himself some time. 

“How often do you feed?” Harry asked, hoping the question sounded somewhat official. “I’m just wondering about logistics.”

“Ideally, every few days, but usually it’s once a week to once a fortnight. We can go about three weeks without feeding entirely.” 

It had been a few days since Harry had last seen Malfoy, so maybe he was starting to get a bit peckish. “Are you hungry now?”

Malfoy tilted his head and said carefully, “Is that why you’re here?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” he replied. “But I have to ask why.”

Harry sighed and threw himself into the back of his chair. Of course, Malfoy would be like this. Couldn’t he just accept Harry’s offer, drink his blood, and then fuck him into a stupor like a normal person? 

“It won’t fix you,” Malfoy said when Harry didn’t say anything. 

“I know that,” Harry snapped. “I just wanted- fuck, this is stupid. I’m going home.” Harry stood up, but Malfoy was quick and grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

“I know what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” Malfoy said. “But not like this.”

Harry blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t even eaten yet.” Malfoy let go of him and then shouted, “Tilly!” An elf appeared beside Malfoy. “Go and fetch my navy blue Dolce coat, and Potter’s coat as well.”

“Why do we need coats?” Harry asked. 

“Because it’s cold outside.” 

“Mister Harry Potter doesn’t be having a coat, sir,” Tilly told Malfoy. 

Malfoy shot Harry an exasperated look and Harry steadfastly looked at something on the mantelpiece. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy turn back to the elf. “In that case, bring my Versace leather jacket as well.” 

“You wear an awful lot of Muggle clothes,” Harry noted when Tilly left.

“It’s easier if I blend in,” Malfoy said carefully. 

Harry felt like that was a statement worth exploring, but probably at another time. Tilly popped back into the study, coats in hand. 

“Here,” Malfoy said tossing a black leather jacket at Harry. “That should fit you alright.” 

Harry shrugged into the jacket while Malfoy watched him. “Alright?” 

Malfoy nodded. “You’ll do.” Harry snorted and Malfoy grabbed him by the elbow and asked, “Ready?” Before Harry could answer, Malfoy had his wand out and was Apparating them on the spot. 

Harry stumbled away from Malfoy when they landed in an alleyway, caught off guard by the sudden sensation of spinning. Malfoy was snickering to himself and Harry rounded on him, pointing a finger at him. “You could have splinched me, you know! It’s not funny.” 

“But I didn’t and it is. You look like a baby deer learning to walk.” Malfoy recreated Harry’s bumbling around and laughed to himself. 

“You’re an arsehole,” Harry muttered before stomping out of the alley. 

Malfoy followed after him, but turned in the opposite direction. “This way,” he called. Harry turned around and grumbled under his breath about “Pointy gits” and “Pompous bastards” as he caught up with Malfoy. 

Malfoy lead him to a nondescript bistro, and when they went inside, the host greeted Malfoy like an old friend. They were seated at a table far from the kitchen and were left with the menu. 

“I take it you come here a lot?” Harry asked when they were seated. 

“Every so often,” Malfoy replied. “I don’t eat food all that much. It doesn’t do anything for me, nutritionally speaking, but I enjoy the taste. The lamb here is exceptional.”

Harry nodded, looking over the menu. “Would it affect you if I had a drink?”

“It’s encouraged.” Harry raised a brow and Malfoy explained. “Alcohol makes your blood sweeter.”

Malfoy ordered a rare steak, because of course, and Harry did end up ordering the lamb. He also ordered a glass of pinot grigio for the sole reason of how upset Malfoy was that it didn’t pair well with the lamb. Harry’s amusement at Malfoy’s irritation increased two-fold when the waiter tried to talk Harry out of his wine choice and even shot Malfoy a sympathetic look.

“So, if you’re eating breakfast now, then what am I?” Harry asked when the waiter left.

Malfoy’s grin was predatory. “Dessert.” 

Harry thought that shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. 

The food came and Harry asked about how different foods would make a person’s blood taste. As it turned out, the garlic thing wasn’t as true as the general population believed, as Malfoy had no issues ingesting it directly when cooked, but whole cloves raw did have a repelling effect. Garlic in the blood, however, tasted like “dirty onions and rotten eggs.” 

It also turned out the silver thing was true, but was rarely a problem because most things weren’t made out of pure silver. Harry learned that when Malfoy pulled out his own pair of utensils, explaining that he preferred to be safe than sorry.

Harry learned more about vampires during one dinner conversation than he had in his entire time at the DRCMC. It made him wonder who was publishing the material on vampires and where they were getting their information from. What else had they gotten wrong? 

But there was one question Harry was a little hesitant to ask. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry began.

“Could I stop you?” 

“Probably not,” Harry admitted. “I was just wondering how you were…turned?”

“Ah,” Malfoy said, leaning back in his chair. “That.” 

“Look, I get if you're sensitive about it,” Harry told him. “It’s just I never heard anything about it. Hermione had heard rumours but…”

“I’m not sensitive about it,” Malfoy replied. “I’m bitter.” 

“That’s understandable.” But Malfoy was shaking his head. 

“Potter, listen,” Malfoy cut in before Harry could say anything else. “Did you know that I didn’t want the Mark?” 

Harry wasn’t sure how to reply to that. He knew that he was a schoolyard bully, but he also knew that was basically all there was to it. Harry’s own issues with him aside, Malfoy had never struck Harry as the kind of person to follow someone like Voldemort. His father was a different story, but Harry had always had a hard time believing that Malfoy had willingly taken the Mark, especially after what had happened at the Manor. That didn’t excuse him for all the cruel things he had done, but it was something. So it wasn’t hard to believe that he hadn’t wanted the Mark. 

Finally, Harry settled on, “Er, I suppose I knew that was a possibility?”

Malfoy looked away, out towards the other patrons of the restaurant, as if searching for something. “I had a choice: take the Mark or my family and I would be killed. I did what I thought I had to do.”

“You were a child. We both were.” 

“I know that.” He turned back to Harry.  “But taking the Mark was the second worst decision I ever made.” 

Harry was a bit taken aback by the admission. What could Malfoy have chosen to do that was worse than following Voldemort? Unless… 

“I met a man, in Italy, of course in Italy. He was funny and smart. And the sex was fantastic. But best of all he didn’t know anything about me. Of course, I thought it was strange that we only saw each other at night, but he was busy, he told me, his job was demanding.”

Harry tried not to gasp. “He was a vampire.”

Malfoy nodded. “We were together for about a year before he asked me. At first, I didn’t want to hear a word about it. But the longer it went on, the better the idea seemed and eventually I said yes. He left me two months later.” 

Malfoy pulled a face as he downed the rest of his drink. “So, how did I turn? I  _ asked _ for it.” 

“You were in love.”

“I was an idiot.” 

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Harry conceded. “But you were an idiot in love.”

“And now I get to suffer those consequences for eternity.” 

Harry didn’t have anything to say that would help so he told Malfoy, “Thanks. For telling me, I mean.”

Malfoy studied Harry for a long moment. “You’re dangerous, Potter.” 

Harry knew exactly what Malfoy was talking about because he felt the same way. “So are you.” 


	7. Chapter 7

After dinner was over and Harry had spent an inordinate amount of time licking his dessert spoon, Malfoy practically dragged Harry from the restaurant and Apparated them straight back to the Manor. 

Now that Harry was in Malfoy’s bedroom with his wits about him, he had a chance to properly look around. It was less green than Harry had expected, but just as gothic and vamp-y as he had thought it would be. The walls were covered in a patterned black paper, and the ceiling was white with a heavy black chandelier hanging from it. 

There was an armchair to the side of the bed. Malfoy surprisingly didn’t have the four poster that seemed the staple of pure-blood luxury; instead, there was a bed with a high grey headboard and two leather footstools in place of a footboard. The sheets were the same shade of grey, save for the black throw across the bottom of the bed. 

“Really leaned into the vampire look, huh,” Harry said, taking in the room. 

“I’m working with what I have,” Malfoy replied. 

“Where’s your coffin?” 

“In the dungeon, but it’s not for sleeping.” Malfoy raised his eyebrows suggestively and Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

“I honestly don’t even want to know.” 

Malfoy moved behind him then, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him close. He bent down to whisper in his ear, “Yes, you do.” 

Harry shuddered at the sensation of Malfoy’s breath ghosting over his skin. “Yeah, maybe I do,” Harry murmured tilting his head to the side in offering. 

“Wait.” Malfoy kissed the spot where he normally drew blood, his lips soft and dry. “Not yet.” 

“Why?”

“Be patient,” Draco told him. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Alright, Malfoy.”

Malfoy traced his tongue down the shell of Harry’s ear and corrected, “Draco.”

“Alright, Draco,” Harry repeated and God, why did  _ that _ feel so good? 

Harry could feel Draco smiling behind him, but then he was gone in the next instant. “Take off your clothes,” Draco instructed, settling himself in the leather armchair off to the side of the bed. “Slowly. Fold them up and put them there.” He pointed at the footstools at the end of the bed. 

“Shoes first, then jumper.”

Harry toed off his shoes and placed them under the footstool before he pulled his jumper over his head, suddenly a bit self-conscious and overexposed, even with only his shirt off. His limbs felt stiff as he folded up his jumper and started in on his belt.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice cut through Harry’s internal tirade. “Get out of your head. All you have to do is listen.”

“Right.” Harry could listen. All he had to do was listen and take his clothes off. It wasn’t a big deal. He continued through the motions, and by the time he was completely naked, he was feeling a bit more relaxed. 

“Good,” Draco told him. “Now get on the bed, lay back up against the pillows.” 

Harry crawled up on the bed and laid down. When he looked up, Draco was standing, watching him. “Spread your legs a bit.” Harry did as he was told, suppressing a shiver as his hole was bared to the open air. 

“Gorgeous,” Draco whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Harry replied. 

“Harry, I need you to know that I would never intentionally hurt you, or make you do something that you didn’t want to.”

“Uh, okay?” Of course Harry knew that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. 

“Like I said, I can nudge you along, if you need it, but I’m not in your head otherwise. I won’t know when something is genuinely too much.” 

“Right.” 

“If you are uncomfortable, if you honestly don’t like something, then I need you to tell me. If you really need me to stop, I’ll know. So if you say no, if you say stop, and you don’t mean it, I’ll know, too. So don’t be afraid to say it.” 

“Really wish we could have had this conversation when my kibble and bits weren’t out.” It wasn’t that Harry didn’t appreciate the sentiment, but Draco seemed to have the worst timing. 

“Harry,” Draco warned. 

Harry huffed but resisted rolling his eyes. “Yes, Draco, I understand.” 

“Good boy.” 

Harry felt a tremor go down his spine at that and tried not to let it show, but Draco saw it anyway. 

“Ah, none of that, Harry. Don’t hold back. I want to see  _ everything _ .” Harry nodded and Draco continued. “Touch yourself.”

Harry reached for his dick, but Draco stopped him. “Not there. Your nipples.” 

He felt a burst of shyness as he moved to play with his nipples. Harry enjoyed a bit of nipple play now and then, and while they weren’t overly sensitive, it still felt good to have them between his fingers or in someone’s mouth. But somehow doing that in front of Draco felt almost too intimate. He’d rather jerk his cock. 

“Do you need help?” Draco asked. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, embarrassed at being unable to even do something so simple. 

“Don’t.” Harry felt a hand on his ankle and opened his eyes. “Don’t hide from me, Harry.” 

Harry swallowed and forced himself to look Draco in the face. He felt a warmth wash over him, relaxing him, urging him to let go, to let Draco take control. Slowly, his hands moved to touch himself like Draco had asked. He circled them first, watching Draco watch him, dragging out the movement, teasing until they were hard little peaks. He pinched his nipples, before rolling them between his fingers. 

“That’s it, get them all nice and hard for me,” Draco said. Harry was fully erect at this point and his nipples were starting to become overly sensitive in an agonisingly pleasurable way, and he needed  _ more _ . Draco must have noticed that Harry was getting a bit antsy because then he said. “I want to see you wank yourself. But don’t go too fast, we’ve got all night.”  

When Harry moved to take his dick in his hand he was surprised when he felt the cool touch of a lube charm in his palm. Draco only smirked at him when Harry looked at him in askance. He began to stroke himself slow and steady, just as Draco had asked him, his cock hot and heavy on his palm. Draco watched him without saying anything more than a few phrases of admiration. 

Finally, when Harry was leaking all over himself and there was more pre-come than lube on his dick, Draco told him, “Bring your knees up, feet flat on the bed.” 

Harry moved into the position and felt his body go hot at the sight he must make, cock in hand, his hole fully on display for Draco. He could see  _ everything _ , every muscle twitch, every shudder and tremor, the quiver of his furled opening as it begged to be filled. Harry had to squeeze himself so he didn’t come from the thought alone. 

He didn’t know if Draco was in his head or if he was just that easy to read, but Draco figured out what Harry was feeling. “You like being on display for me, don’t you?” Draco asked and Harry nodded. “Use your words, Harry.”

“Yes,” Harry groaned, stroking himself a bit faster. 

“You want me to see you, to see how good you can be, is that right?” 

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Go on then, show me how sweet you can be for me, Harry. Open yourself up, but don’t you dare stop touching yourself.” 

Harry felt lube gather between his cheeks and reached underneath his leg to find his entrance. He circled it with his finger, just as he had done with his nipples, before plunging in two fingers. He groaned at the burn, but he’d always liked that, and began to work his fingers in and out. 

“Can I…?” Harry trailed off.

“Can you what?”

“Can I add another?”

“Of course, baby, go ahead.” 

Harry fucked his fingers in and out of himself while Draco spurred him on with little notes of praise. Harry was so close to coming he thought he might burst with it, but Draco had told him to keep his strokes long and slow. 

“Draco,” Harry moaned. “Please, can I come?”

“No,” Draco said. “I want to see you take another finger. You can do that for me, can’t you Harry?” 

“I—I don’t know,” Harry admitted. 

“Of course you can. Go ahead and get up on your knees for me.” 

Harry pulled his fingers from himself and moved into a kneeling position on the bed. “Keep touching yourself. Nice and slow.”

Harry kept jacking himself as he pushed his fingers back in. “Now another one, go on.” 

“Draco,” Harry whined as he pushed the fourth finger in. 

“You can take it,” Draco encouraged. “Fuck yourself on your fingers for me.” Harry began to bounce up and down on his hand, still stroking himself. “Are you close?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want to come?” 

“Please.”

“Alright, since you asked me so nicely. Go ahead.”

Harry sped up his movements and soon he was spilling over his hand. Draco was by his side in an instant, kissing him and guiding him back to lay down. “So pretty for me when you come,” Draco murmured. “I could keep you here like this forever.” 

Harry keened when Draco suckled over his pulse point. 

“I’m going to fuck you, okay?” 

“Yes, do it,” Harry said. Even though he had just come, he wanted nothing more than Draco inside of him. 

Draco shifted so he was lying on his back and pulled Harry directly on top of him, arse to groin.    
  


“Spread your legs for me a bit, baby.” Draco nudged Harry’s legs with his own. Somewhere during Harry touching himself, Draco had lubed himself up and was now easing himself into Harry. He was slow, but Harry was still reeling from his orgasm and every inch of Draco felt like a livewire sinking into him. It was  _ incredible. _

Harry began rocking back and forth and Draco’s hand came up to clutch around his throat, a gentle reminder of who was in charge. Harry let Draco take over and they moved together, Draco scraping his teeth along Harry’s neck, his hand playing with Harry’s balls. Harry felt himself getting hard again, despite having come less than a minute ago. Draco was fucking into him with precise movements that nudged his spot just at the right angle, and was squeezing Harry’s bollocks in time. 

“Are you going to come for me again, Harry?” Draco took his earlobe between his teeth. “Are you going to show me that pretty face?” 

Harry whimpered in response. Draco’s hips moved faster and Harry struggled to keep time. He reached back and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck to keep his balance. The hand around his throat tightened and Harry almost came again. Draco’s hand moved away from Harry’s balls and began to jerk him hard and fast. 

“You close, baby?” 

Harry nodded frantically, a whining “ _ yes _ ,” slipping from his mouth and then Draco was sinking his teeth into him. 

Harry thought he might have screamed. He might have died. He might have ascended to the next astral plane. His vision was littered with spots as he came and Draco drank from him. He felt the blood moving in him now, felt it leaving him. It was altogether freeing and terrifying and Harry had never felt so light and good as he did now. It seemed that his orgasm would last as long as Draco was feeding on him. Every time he thought it was over he’d shoot right back up.

All too soon, Draco pulled away and Harry groaned, the weight finally returning to his body. He felt Draco’s cock slide from him, and for a moment he was tempted to tell him to stay where he was, but the feeling of Draco’s come trickling out of him was almost as good as having his cock in him. 

“You were so sweet for me, Harry,” Draco was whispering, and Harry felt the tingle of a cleaning charm over his skin. “Always so sweet for me. So beautiful like this.” 

Harry hummed in response, his tongue felt pleasantly heavy in his mouth, almost as if he were drunk. 

“How’re you feeling, Harry?” 

Harry cracked an eye open to see Draco hovering over him. He didn’t think his mouth could form words, so he reached up and tugged Draco down for a kiss. It was slow and a little messy, if Harry was being honest, but he didn’t care. Nothing had ever felt better than their kiss did in that moment. 

They broke apart; Harry rolled them a bit so Draco was on his back once again before tucking himself under Draco’s arm and promptly falling asleep.

—

When Harry woke up, he heard birds chirping and he was alone in bed. Blearily he opened his eyes and found Draco standing over him, watching him sleep.

“Christ!!” Harry shouted, jumping up against the headboard. 

Draco smirked at him. “Just me.” 

“I hope you know that’s incredibly creepy.” Harry glared at him and stuck out his hand for his glasses. To his surprise, Draco handed them to him, rather than them coming by magic.  “What time is it?” he asked, cleaning his glasses before shoving them on his face. 

“Probably somewhere around ten,” Draco admitted. 

“In the morning?” Harry squawked. 

“No, at night, you slept for 24 hours. Of course in the morning.” 

“Did you…Shouldn’t you be going to sleep now?” 

“I don’t really need to that much, to be honest, but I dozed a bit.” 

“And then what, you just stayed here and stared at me for the rest of the night?”

Draco didn’t answer that, which, really, was answer enough. 

“I have something for you,” Draco said suddenly, then thrust a large box he produced from thin air into Harry’s hands.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, taking the box and giving it a shake. 

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Just open it.” 

Harry grinned and ripped the bow and the paper off like a rabid animal. 

“Why am I not surprised,” Draco muttered, watching Harry with barely concealed amusement.

Harry blinked at the contents of the box. It was the jacket he had worn last night, or an exact replica of it. “Draco?”

“It looked good on you. You should have it if you want.” Draco glanced away, looking out at nothing through the open bedroom door. 

“It’s...lovely,” Harry said, a bit taken aback at how shy Draco suddenly was. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco said, finally looking back at Harry. 

Draco didn’t say anything else, so Harry asked, “So, what do you do when you’re awake during the daytime?” 

“Depends. I can’t exactly go outside, but the Manor is protected not to let any UV rays in. So I don’t have to go sleep in my coffin anytime soon.”

Harry chuckled. “Do you really have a coffin?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Draco smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Get up, you need to eat.”

Harry groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. “Can’t I just lay here a while longer?” 

“Why, Harry, did I wear you out last night?”

“Yes!” 

“That’s why you need to eat, so get up.” 

Harry got himself up and found his clothes at the foot of the bed, grumbling about what the point of being a wizard was if you couldn’t have breakfast in bed. It was then he noticed that Draco had pulled on an ornate house robe and was waiting impatiently for Harry by the door.

“Happy?” Harry asked. “You look ridiculous, by the way.” 

“This is vintage,” Draco sniffed, as though that explained it, and walked out of the room. And really, Harry supposed it did. Harry went out after him, a stupid grin plastered on his face. 


	8. Chapter 8

Harry didn’t end up leaving the Manor until the following Monday. He hadn’t meant to stay that long, but after breakfast that first morning, they had wandered into the library and had ended up in an intense game of Wizarding Chess, and then it had been lunchtime and Harry had felt like a nap. And one thing had led to another and they had gone night flying and had fucked in the garden. Draco hadn’t fed on him that night, but he had taken a little taste. The next thing Harry knew it was Thursday, and he didn’t want to leave. 

Harry had sent a note off to Ron and Hermione telling them he was sick so they wouldn’t come round, a lie he felt only slightly guilty about, before he had popped his head into the Floo to let Mrs. Oliver know he’d be out for the rest of the week and he’d see her on Monday.

She had tried to wring what was really going on out of him, but he’d cut off the call with a smile and cheery wave. He was putting his job on the line, but he could always get another one. Or he couldn’t. He had enough money that he’d never actually have to work again.

Draco had taken him out again, this time to the cinema, where they’d gotten a bit handsy in the back row and had missed most of the film. Then Harry had found out there was a fair in the town over from the Manor and had dragged Draco there. They’d mainly competed at the arcade games and Draco had won Harry a little stuffed dragon and pouted because Harry had won one for himself that was far bigger. It was perfectly normal, Harry thought, and exceptionally risky. He was being reckless and it had never felt better. 

But Harry hadn’t been able to put off the real world any longer so on Monday morning, he’d left Draco with a kiss and a promise to see him on Tuesday night. Draco had pressed a dried flower into his hand and told him to keep it with him. Harry smiled at the memory of Draco’s bashful expression when he’d given it to him as he opened the door to his flat. Immediately, something felt a little off. Carefully, he shut the door behind him without a sound, drew out his wand, and muffled his footsteps. He crept into the living room and heard the shutting of a door. Harry whipped around and pointed his wand into the neck of his intruder.

Harry and Ron screamed at the same time, Ron stumbling backward and Harry falling into the couch. 

“What the hell!” Ron shouted clutching at his chest. 

“What’re you doing here!” Harry yelled back. 

Ron crossed his arms and glared at Harry in a perfect imitation of his mother. “Where have you been?” 

Harry raised his eyebrows and blinked at Ron. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been calling you for  _ days _ .” 

“I said I was sick.”

“Sick where? Because you certainly weren’t here. Or at Mungo’s for that matter!”

“Christ Ron, you went to Mungo’s? I just needed some space.” Harry knew he was being unreasonable, but still, he pushed past Ron and went into his bedroom, Ron hot on his heels.

“Space? Harry, you’ve got nothing but space!” 

Harry rounded on him, suddenly angry. “What the hell does that mean.” 

“What the bloody hell do you think! We see you like, what maybe twice a week? And when we do, we never talk, which clearly we need to.” 

“Ron, we talk all the time. You’re mental.” 

“Harry, you said you were sick and then you disappeared for days!”

“I said I needed space.”

“Space from what?” Ron shouted. “Who could you possibly need space from?”

“You! Hermione! Me! Everyone, just fucking everyone, Ron!” Harry exploded. Ron looked stricken and Harry let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the bed. “I just wanted to…I don’t know, I just wanted to be different, I guess.”

Ron came over and sat next to Harry on the bed. “What's going on with you, mate? Seriously, you never tell us anything anymore. Yeah, we talk about Quidditch and how irritating work is and the latest episode of whatever Muggle telly show is on at the moment. But anytime me or ‘Mione bring up anything more serious than the proper way to make a cup of tea, you shut down.” 

“I do not,” Harry replied, but even to his own ears, it sounded false. 

Ron sighed. “Look, I know Hermione and Mum and I guess me too, can be a little pushy sometimes and I know you know we mean well and all. But I think part of the reason why we push so much is because it feels like if we didn’t, you’d never tell us anything.” 

Harry turned Ron’s words over in his mind and he knew that there was some truth to them. It’s not that he meant to be deliberately secretive with his friends, but when he was still an Auror there was so much he couldn’t share, and when he left there was so much he wasn’t ready to share, and then he just never did. 

“You’ve always tried to protect us,” Ron said suddenly. “You’ve always tried to keep things from us that you thought would hurt us. But Harry, I don’t know how many times we have to tell you, there’s no fight we wouldn’t follow you into, and there is nothing that you could do that would ever cause us to stop being friends.” 

“Even if I was dating Draco Malfoy?” Harry didn’t know why he said it, but it was out there and he couldn’t take it back. 

Ron, for his part, tried his best to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t hide the way the colour drained from his face. “Even if you were dating Malfoy,” Ron squeaked. “ _ Are  _ you dating Malfoy?” 

“I don’t know?” Harry admitted. “That’s where I’ve been, though.” 

“Okay,” Ron said slowly, then took a fortifying breath. “Okay. That’s—That’s good. Cool. Awesome. Very, nice.” 

Harry had to laugh but appreciated how hard Ron was trying. “It’s okay, Ron, I know it’s weird.” 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Ron said in a rush. “It’s so fucking weird, Harry. Like, how did this even happen?” 

“Well, it kind of started when he asked to feed on me.” 

“He what!” 

Harry ran a hand down his face and tugged at his beard while he explained the situation to Ron. 

“So now, I think he might be courting me?” 

“It’s possible,” Ron admitted. “Merlin, Harry, how do you get yourself into this stuff?” 

“Sheer dumb luck,” Harry snorted. 

They were quiet for a while, then Ron spoke again. “Are you happy?” 

“Maybe,” Harry began. “I don’t know. But I think I might be getting there.”

“That’s all that matters then, really.” 

Harry turned to Ron then and gave him a small smile. “Thanks, mate. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend recently.” 

“You’d better be.” Ron bumped his shoulder with Harry and said, “But seriously, Harry, we love you.

Harry knocked his shoulder back. “I love you guys, too.”

“But you’re on your own explaining this to Hermione.” 

Harry groaned and flopped back onto the bed, Ron following suit. “Do you think she’ll be terribly upset?” 

“I think she’ll probably have worked all this out because you came into work one day with one feather on the hem of your robes, that could obviously only belong to a peacock, and Malfoy has peacocks, so clearly you’re fucking.” Harry laughed and Ron went on. “I think she’ll be upset you waited so long to tell her, but I don’t think she’ll be mad about it. Everyone knew this was bound to happen eventually.” 

“Hey!” Harry whacked Ron in the chest. “They did not.”

“Please, you two followed each other around at school like dragons in heat. It was disgusting,” Ron snorted. 

“We were rivals,” Harry grumbled. “He was an insufferable prick.” 

“And you were a pain in the arse. Now look at you, his prick is up your arse. It’s like you were made for each other.” 

“Oh my God, Ron, you are the worst,” Harry laughed.

“What’s it feel like?”

“Uhm…like I guess at first it feels kinda odd? Like something that should not be there and then you just feel full and then just like really, really good. Draco definitely knows what he’s doing. It’s incredible.” 

“Harry,” Ron said slowly. “Did you just tell me what it feels like to have Malfoy’s cock up your bum?”

Harry realised that Ron had clearly been asking about what it felt like to have your blood sucked and hastened to salvage the situation. “No, that’s what it feels like when you’re being fed from.”

“Oh Merlin and Morgana you did,” Ron moaned. “You just told me that Malfoy knows how to use his dick. I want to die.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I can’t listen to this anymore,” Ron said sitting up. “I need to get to work and so do you.”

“Right,” Harry replied, getting up himself. 

“I’ll see you later, mate. I’m sure Hermione will let me know how your talk goes.”

“I have to tell her today then?” Ron gave him a look. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to her today.” 

“Good luck!” Ron called as he left Harry’s flat. 

“I’ll need it,” Harry said to himself as he got ready for work. By the time he got to the Ministry he was an hour and a half late, and the underling, Fitz-Simmons, Harry remembered, was waiting for him. 

“Mr. Potter, sir,” Fitz-Simmons said, jumping up from the chair outside of Harry’s office. 

“He’s been here since half seven,” Mrs. Oliver informed Harry with an annoyed twist to her lips. Harry had no doubt she had told Fitz-Simmons that she’d send Harry up as soon as he got in, to no avail. Mrs. Oliver did  _ not _ like anyone stepping on her secretarial toes. 

Harry sighed. “Right, what is it then?”

“The Minister wants to see you right away.” Fitz-Simmons adjusted his robes, seemingly unable to do anything else with his hands. “He says I’m not to leave here until you come to see him.

At that, Mrs. Oliver cleared her throat and gave Harry a pointed look. She was very territorial. 

Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes just in time, but he did blow out a puff of air to push his hair off his forehead. “Lead the way.” He held out his arm for Fitz-Simmons to go. 

No one seemed to notice Harry come into the Minister’s office; instead, they were all running to and fro like little birds that had been given shots of espresso. That could only mean the Minister was in a foul mood, and Harry was more than likely in for it. 

He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. 

“Come in,” Shacklebolt grunted. 

Harry opened the door slowly and said, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Shacklebolt gave Harry a hard look and said, “Shut the door.” 

Harry took his time turning around and closing the door behind him. But he couldn’t stay standing there forever, eventually he had to turn around and look at Shacklebolt again, who hadn’t stopped watching Harry. “Sit down.” 

Harry did as he was told. 

“Now, just what in the bloody hell is going on?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry tried, but whatever else he was going to say died in his throat. 

“Don’t play stupid with me, Harry. I’ve had reports that you stormed out Tuesday, cursing and yelling at anyone who got in your way. You made Mrs. Oliver cry.” He looked down at the papers on the desk and looked back up at Harry, incredulous. “You cast a bat bogey hex on an Unspeakable?” 

Harry winced at the accusations. “I don’t think most of those are true. But it’s possible Mrs. Oliver did cry, but I certainly didn’t yell at her. She’s just worried about me.”

“And did you yell at any others?” 

Harry thought for a moment. “It’s possible? But I didn’t cast a bat bogey hex on anyone. I’m rubbish at them.” 

Shacklebolt narrowed his eyes at Harry. “That last one didn’t strike me as true. But regardless; what happened? You’ve been gone nearly a week without so much as a peep.” 

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m really sorry, sir, I just needed to get away. I do have personal days saved up, and I just needed to take them.”

“Harry,” Shacklebolt said softly. “We talked about this when you came back.” 

Harry sighed, refusing to meet the Minister’s eye. “I know, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t anything to do with the job, honestly. I just wore myself too thin. I’m still…learning how to do this right, I suppose.” 

“I want to thank you for being honest with me, but Harry, we can’t have this. If you need time you need to take it  _ before  _ you end up blowing a lid.”

“Of course, sir.” 

“But tell me seriously, Harry, are you good to continue on the Malfoy case?” 

Harry was never more grateful that he didn’t blush than right at that moment. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Shacklebolt handed a folder to Harry. “Go and see him tonight, at this address.”

“Sir?” 

“It’s the site of his club, I want to do an inspection.” Harry took the folder but Shacklebolt didn’t let go. “One more stunt like this Potter, and I’ll have to put you on desk duty, you understand?” 

“Yes, sir, I understand.” 

Harry left the office and made his way up to see Hermione. When he got to her floor, Louis scowled at him and spat, “She doesn’t want to see you.” 

Harry sighed. She must have heard he’d come into work today already. “Well, can you tell her I stopped by?” 

“Maybe,” Louis said, already turning away. “If I remember.” 

Harry sighed and left Hermione’s floor trudging up to his. Mrs. Oliver gave him a cold look as he walked in, and Harry steeled himself for a long day of apologies. 


	9. Chapter 9

Harry had tried to see Hermione two more times before leaving work, to no avail, but he supposed it was probably better to have this conversation somewhere outside of listening walls. Still, she’d know he’d made an effort. He wished he could go round to her and Ron’s place that night to just get the whole thing sorted, but he had to see about Draco’s club. He was in enough hot water with the Minister as it was, so putting that off for another night was not an option. 

He didn’t leave work until well after sunset and went directly to the address Shacklebolt had written down in the file. Harry found it easily enough, tucked between two identical-looking buildings off of the new expansion of Diagon Alley. 

Harry could hear people talking and the hubbub of construction as he descended the stairs into the basement where the club was to be. Draco must have known he was coming or sensed him, because as soon as Harry was stepping off the last stair, Draco was there. 

Draco took one look at Harry’s DRCMC robe and greeted him with a sly, “Potter.” 

Harry’s raised his eyebrows and replied, “Malfoy.” 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”  

Harry rolled his eyes and walked past him into the main part of the space. “I’m here for an inspection.”

“Oh?” Draco said from right behind. “And what exactly would you like me to inspect?” There was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it squeeze to his arse and then Draco was standing in front of him, arms innocently behind his back. 

“Of the club,” Harry clarified with a glare, but there wasn’t any real heat to it. He pulled a bundle of forms out of his robes and waved them at Draco. “So no funny business.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco said innocently. 

Harry chose to ignore that and shoved the topmost form under Draco’s nose. “Are you on track with this expected opening date?”

“Yes, I believe we’re ahead of schedule actually.” There was a crash then and Draco whipped around to find the source of the noise. “Would you excuse me a moment?” Draco growled then stomped off in the direction of the crash yelling for two people called Williams and Ramsay. 

Harry snorted and made a note on his forms before wandering over to what he assumed would be a bar area, though whether it was for refreshments of the traditional or sanguine kind remained to be seen. 

“Can I help you?” A smooth voice asked while Harry was poking his head underneath the sink to make sure the plumbing was up to code, according to the instructional guide in his inspection packet. Though why they needed to inspect the plumbing when they could do literal magic was beyond Harry. 

Harry pulled his head out from under the sink to look up at the person speaking to him, and gasped. 

The woman was tall, with a slim neck, a shaved head, and the most piercing hazel eyes Harry had ever seen. Her skin was richly dark, and even in the dim light it glowed, drawing his eye and making him want to reach out to see if she was really made of flesh and bone. She was probably the most beautiful person Harry had ever seen.

“Oh,” she purred when Harry finally picked his jaw up off the floor and stood up. “You’re with the Ministry.” 

“Yes, I’m the Ministry,” Harry squeaked then cleared his throat and said in a deeper voice. “I mean, yes, I’m with the DRCMC.”

“You’ve been bitten,” She declared and then sniffed once. “And claimed. Such a shame.” She looked him up and down with hungry eyes. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Er, what?”

“Who is it?” She asked. “Do you think they’d be opposed to sharing?” 

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What do you mean I’m claimed?” 

She laughed then, high and musical. “Oh, you sweet little boy, I simply must taste you. I’m sure your patron won’t mind.” She came forward and Harry felt his stomach twist as the woman ran a manicured finger down his jaw, then hooked her finger under his chin and tilted it up. 

He took a step back and said, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The woman looked surprised for a moment. “ _ Let me in _ ,” she said and it took Harry a second to realise she was in his head. He glared at her and his mind pushed back, but instead of being angry, the woman looked like Harry was a prime cut of steak at an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

“I said,  _ no _ ,” Harry told her. 

“Amari, what are you doing?” Draco was striding towards them, a scowl on his face.

The woman, Amari, stepped back instantly and Harry blinked as she finally left his mind completely. Suddenly Harry realised with sickening clarity that he had let his guard down around what was likely a den of vampires, and while nothing bad had happened this time, it was unacceptable for him to make such a mistake. 

Draco glanced at Harry before he came over and put his hand on Harry’s elbow, grounding him. 

“Oh, well isn’t this interesting.” 

“Amari,” Draco warned, but she paid him no heed, laughing in his face.

“I see,” Amari said, looking between them. “He belongs to you.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, “I don’t belong to anyone.” 

She fixed him with a knowing smirk and said, “I wasn’t talking about you.” She turned back to Draco. “You’ve marked him already?”

“Marked?” Harry repeated. “What are you talking about? I’m still human.” 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and Amari looked delighted. “Oh, that’s  _ perfect _ . He doesn’t even know.” 

“Harry,” Draco said slowly, “Are you finished here?” 

“Uhm, not really? I still have a bunch of stuff to see.” 

“Fine. Finish, and then I trust you can see yourself out.” Draco turned to glare at Amari. “I have some business to attend to.” 

“Draco?” Harry asked, but Draco was already striding away, Amari turning to follow him. Harry watched them head up the metal stairs that he assumed lead to the office, but just before she disappeared from Harry’s line of sight, Amari leaned over the railing and mouthed ‘flower’ at him. 

Harry shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and felt the dried flower there, protected by a charm to keep it from crumbling. He hadn’t really thought anything of it when Draco had gifted it, though it was a little strange that Draco had requested he keep it with him. Still, Harry hadn’t thought much of it when he’d slipped it into his pocket earlier, almost subconsciously. He assumed it was some kind of vampire protection amulet. 

Harry finished up his inspection, and Draco and Amari still hadn’t come back downstairs. He had no other reason to be there, but he was unable to shake the strange encounter from his mind.

When Harry got home, he sent Draco a note asking if everything was alright. He made himself some dinner, tried to call Hermione, but got no answer, ran through his report of Draco’s club again, and still he never got a reply back, though his own owl had returned hours ago. 

Perhaps Draco was still busy at the club? Harry was sure the wiggle of anxiousness in his stomach was just him being paranoid, nothing more. He should try to sleep. Everything would be fine in the morning. He’d had a whirlwind of a week and just needed to rest, was all. Harry went through his bedtime routine on autopilot, ears strained for the sound of tapping against the window. It was the first time in a long time that Harry went to bed and didn’t hope for sleep. 

—

The next morning Harry tried not to dwell on the fact that Draco never owled him back, but he was mildly irritated. This was why Wizards needed phones. As he made his way to work he wondered how hard it would be to start a Wizarding phone business. He was sure Ron and George could figure out how to produce magically-inclined phones en masse. Or at least knew someone who did. 

He stopped off at the bakery across from the Ministry entrance to pick up a selection of scones for the break room, another small apology, and picked out a blueberry muffin especially for Mrs. Oliver. 

“Good morning,” Harry said to Mrs. Oliver when he stepped out of the lifts. “Got a little something for you.” 

She quirked her eyebrow. “What is it?” Harry produced the muffin and the selection of scones. He could see her trying not to smile as she took it from him, and finally, she gave up. “Oh, I never could stay mad at you for long.” 

Harry grinned back. “Thanks, Mrs. Oliver. And I really am sorry about last week.” 

“Just don’t worry me like that again,” she said sternly. Harry promised her he wouldn’t and she picked up an envelope and handed it to him. “Oh, this came for you just before you walked in.”

Harry took it from her, frowning at the Minister’s easily recognisable hand. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be in my office.” 

From the comfort of his desk, Harry opened the letter, read it once, then read it again just to make sure he understood.

_ Potter, _

_ I’m out for the day, but I’ve had word from Malfoy that your presence at his “establishment” is causing a bit of a stir. The last thing we need is for you to get attacked by vampires or for this to get to the papers before we’re ready. You’re being reassigned from the Malfoy case. Hand your files over to Johnson.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic _

Harry was reeling. Did Draco want him reassigned? Or was this Shacklebolt’s doing?  He had done everything that had been asked of him, and then some. Harry supposed he should have been keeping a better record of his official visits to Draco, now that he thought about it. The last thing he wanted was for something to fall through because he’d been too dick-drunk to do his job properly. But other than the incident last week, he had been perfectly professional with Draco, when he’d needed to be. Mostly. Somewhat.

The point was, he had done his job. 

Harry went up to the Ministry Owlery and sent yet another message to Draco, asking if this was something he knew about and was alright with. Really, Harry supposed it didn’t matter who was working the case at this point, as long as it was being worked properly. The rest of the day passed fairly quickly, as Harry had a lot of backlog work to do from the week he’d missed prior, plus his other cases to sort through. 

There was a letter waiting for Harry when he got home, pushed through the mail flap. There was no name on the outside, and it was laying on the hall carpet rather innocently, but Harry cast three spells on it to see if it was malicious, just in case. Detecting nothing, Harry picked it up and opened it. 

_ Potter, _

_ I am sorry to do this through a letter, but it’s better for both of us that way. I’ll get to the point. We can’t see each other anymore. It was stupid of me to proposition you in the first place, and so for that, I will apologise. After what happened at the club with Amari, I realised that it’s not possible for you to be with me of your own free will. I backed you into a corner from the beginning, besides the fact that there’s no way to control my Pull. It’s not fair to you or me to continue on as such.  _

_ Apologies, _

_ D. Malfoy _

Harry folded the letter up into a tiny teeny square then incinerated it. 

_ Apologies?  _ That’s what Draco had to say for himself? Fucking  _ apologies _ ? He’d be fucking sorry, that was for damn sure. 

Harry turned on his heel and stormed right back out of his flat, heading for the Apparition point.  He calmed himself down enough that he wouldn’t splinch himself, and Apparated away. Harry landed on the garden path leading up to Ron and Hermione’s cottage. He strode up to the door and knocked on it in an incessant rhythm. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” He heard Hermione shout. When she opened the door, there was a scowl on her face but as soon as she took him in, she grew alarmed. “Harry? What’s happened?” 

“I was seeing Draco Malfoy and he just broke things off with me via owl,” Harry said in a rush. “I’m very aware that is a very stupid thing to have done and I should have told you and I’m sorry, and I tried to tell you but you didn’t want to see me, but can we please focus on the fact that Draco Malfoy just broke things off with me via owl?” 

“What?” 

“Please,” Harry repeated. Hermione stepped back and let Harry in. He went straight into the sitting room and threw himself flat on their couch and covered his face with his arm.

“Harry?” Ron called, coming through from the den. “That you mate?” 

“Malfoy broke things off with me,” Harry said by way of greeting. 

“I’ll put on some tea,” Ron sighed and headed back towards the kitchen. 

Harry saw Hermione sit down on a chair opposite the couch from underneath his arm. “How could I be so stupid?” He asked her. 

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “I really don’t want to pass judgement until I’ve heard what happened.”

“Can’t you just disagree with me?” Harry groaned.

“Well, I’m not sure you deserve it.” And Harry couldn’t blame her for that, even if it did hurt. 

So, he explained how the whole thing started, and by the time Ron came in with the tea, they were both on the same page. “So, I went to see him at the club he’s starting and there was this other vampire there, and she tried to use her Pull or something on me, I guess, but it didn’t work. And then she told me I was ‘claimed’ whatever that means.”

“Claimed?” Hermione sat straight up. “Harry, you’re sure she said claimed?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

“And you said Malfoy gave you gifts right? Like he was trying to court you?”

  
“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “He gave me a jacket and a stuffed dragon. A set of cufflinks, and a set of pure silver candleholders, but I think that was mainly because he couldn’t touch them.” 

Ron glanced at Hermione, and said, “I’m no expert, but those don’t sound all that exciting, to be honest.”

Harry remembered that Amari had mouthed ‘flower’ at him when he’d been at the club. 

“Oh, and this.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the dried flower.

“Oh my god,” Hermione breathed. 

“Oh my god,” Ron repeated.

“What?” Harry demanded, sitting straight up. 

Ron shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just did it because ‘Mione did.”

Hermione kicked him and turned back to Harry. “Harry, didn’t it strike you as significant that Malfoy gave you a  _ primrose _ ?”

“Er…should it have?”

“What’s a primrose?” Ron asked.

Hermione huffed and threw her arms up in the air. “Hopeless! Both of you! Do you never pay attention when Neville speaks?”

“I try, but he gets so technical it kind of goes over my head,” Harry admitted. “But that’s not really the issue here, so can we please focus on what the fuck this flower means?” 

“A primrose, Harry,” Hermione began sternly, “is a symbol for eternal love, and he gave you one that was charmed to never break.”

“Oh my god,” Harry gasped and fell back onto the couch. “ _ Oh my god _ .”

“Wait, did Malfoy just propose to Harry?” 

Hermione shook her head. “Not like that. More like... a declaration, I suppose.”

“That fucking  _ wanker _ ,” Harry hissed. “Who does he think he is, giving me this—whatever and then just deciding how I feel? The arrogant prick.”  

Ron looked like he was having trouble processing everything, but still asked, “And he broke it off via owl?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. “That bastard.” 

“Are you alright?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Harry lied, then, “No.” 

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. “I’m really sorry.” 

Harry rolled over to face them both. “Thank you. And I’m really sorry about...everything, really.”

Hermione gave him a small smile, “I know, Harry.” 

“So what are you going to do about Malfoy?” Ron asked. 

Harry sighed and rolled back to face the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

—

_ Dear Malfoy, _

_ You’re a fucking idiot. _

_ -H. Potter _

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Harry started going back to therapy. If anything, the whole mess with Malfoy made him realise that he hadn’t been doing as well as he’d thought. He still itched with the desire to get away some days, and sleep wasn’t the easiest, but he was sleeping at least. He made a conscious effort to tell his friends things that were a bit deeper than how the weather was recently. He started saying yes to more social events. 

He even decided to start dating properly again, and though he had only gone on one disastrous date where the bloke kept trying to reach across the table to touch his scar, Harry was glad he’d done it. It was a good story, at least. 

But Harry couldn’t help but think of Malfoy. He knew they had only been “together” for a short amount of time, and really they had no obligations to each other, and yet Harry was still angry. Draco hadn’t even given them a chance, and he hadn’t bothered to check with Harry to see how he felt about the situation at all. He had just made a decision for himself under the guise of it being better for both of them. It infuriated Harry. 

The worst thing was how much he wished it didn’t. 

\--

It was a quiet Friday evening when he heard it. 

“Oh, are you serious?”

There it was, the unmistakable sound of Draco Malfoy complaining. “Harry! Can you get this stuff off of the door, please?”

Harry smirked to himself and turned back to the TV. He’d put a wreath of garlic around his door one day in a fit of spite. He’d never thought that Draco, or any other vampire, really, would actually come round, but he was glad to see it wasn’t all for naught. 

“Harry, I know you’re in there, could you please open the door?”

Harry ignored him and turned the TV volume up. 

“Come on Harry, I can’t even knock on the door. You’re disturbing the neighbours.”

“No, you’re disturbing the neighbours!” Harry called back. 

It was quiet for a suspiciously long time and Harry thought Draco must have given up and gone home. Typical. But then there was a great rattling at the window. Harry jumped a foot into the air at the sharp sound. He could only assume it was Malfoy’s ornery bird, but when he opened the curtains, it was Draco himself standing in mid-air and glaring at Harry with his arms crossed. Harry stumbled back, tripping over the rug and falling on his arse. 

“Fuck!” Harry exclaimed. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” 

“There’s garlic on the door,” Draco said as if that explained it. 

“Yes! For a reason!” Harry pulled himself off the floor. “Christ, Draco, the neighbours’ll see you.”

“Then let me in.” 

“Why?” 

“Please, Harry, don’t make me do this out here.” 

Harry thought for a moment and finally reached over to unlatch the window. “Alright, but you have five minutes.”

“I only need two.” 

“Truer words were never spoken,” Harry muttered darkly, and Draco shot him a look. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Draco let out a put-upon sigh and said, “I actually need you to say the words.” 

“Fine. Come in.” Harry held his arm out for Draco to enter. Draco hopped through the window and Harry stuck his head out surprised to see there had been no broom underneath him. “You can fly?”

“Levitate,” Draco corrected, “No longer than to do anything more useful than changing a candlestick on a very high chandelier.” 

“Or harass people at their windows.”

“Right. Or that.” 

Harry went over and picked up the remote and clicked off the TV, before turning back around to face Draco. “Alright, talk.”

“Can we maybe sit?” Draco asked. 

“Is this how you want to use your two minutes?” 

Draco huffed. “I was a fool.” 

“I could have told you that. Oh wait, I did.” 

“Are you going to let me use my two minutes or are you going to?”  

Harry pressed his lips together in a thin line but motioned for Draco to continue. “As I was saying, I was a fool. Everything was moving so quickly, and I know that was mainly my doing, but after I saw you at the club with Amari, I panicked. I was worried after what happened with that Junior Auror, and I didn’t want the same thing to happen to you. I thought if I ended it before my Pull was too strong, before you were as attached as I was, it would be better.”

“Who said I wasn’t as attached as you were?” Harry asked. “What gave you the right to decide how  _ I  _ feel?”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed. But I found out recently, that the Pull it…it doesn’t affect you, does it?”

Harry gave him a considering look. “Have you ever tried to use it on me?”

“Not actively,” Draco admitted. “But it’s always there. We can make it stronger or weaker, but we can’t turn it off. But Amari…she tried to use it on you. It didn’t work.”

“Do you know why I was put on your case?” Harry asked, but didn’t give Draco time to answer. “I can resist  _ Imperius _ .” 

Draco took a second to process that before he was chuckling to himself in self-derision. “That sounds about right.” 

“Right.”

“Harry, you have to understand, the last thing I wanted to do was have you with me because of something you didn’t choose or couldn’t control. I just wanted you to have that choice.”

“Then why didn’t you show me the courtesy of giving me one?” Harry snapped. Draco winced and Harry pressed on. “Why did you wait weeks to come here and actually see how I felt? Why are you even here now?”

“I-” Draco looked away, clearly trying to find the right way to say something, but Harry had had enough. 

“You what?” Harry demanded. 

“I miss you.” Draco snapped. “I miss you, okay? And don’t flatter yourself, Potter, I’m not here to tell you that I can’t stand to live without you and that every moment that I’m not with you is cold and lifeless and that even food doesn’t taste the same without you.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The absolute  _ audacity _ of Draco Malfoy was astounding. “You have such a way with words. Really know how to sweet talk a person, don’t you?” 

“I’m just telling you the truth! The truth is I miss you and I would like to try this again.” 

“Try it again?” Harry repeated. “And that’s how you ask?” 

“Well, if you don’t want to, you can just say no,” Draco growled, already turning back to the window, but Harry leapt forward and grabbed Draco by the elbow, hauling him back around to face him. 

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ ,” Harry hissed. “I have some things to say, and you’re going to listen.” Harry waved his hand at the window; it slammed shut and latched itself closed. Draco’s eyes widened at the display, but said nothing. “Sit,” Harry ordered. 

Draco did as he was told, sitting primly on the edge of the couch while Harry stood over him. 

“I am  _ so _ angry with you,” Harry began.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” 

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, and Draco had the decency to look chastised. “You send me an owl about how you want to break things off, you never once ask me how I feel, and then you show up here demanding I listen to you and you  _ still _ don’t let me speak.” 

Harry waited a moment to see if Draco was going to interrupt him. “You’re presumptuous, more than a little self-centered, and a bit cowardly, if I’m being honest, and you have the absolute worst taste in music.” 

“What a glowing assessment,” Draco muttered, but Harry shot him a look that shut him right up.

“But even with all that, you’re funny and smart, you don’t pretend to be what you’re not, and you’re thoughtful in your own way, even if it’s a bit misguided. You wanted to protect me, and I can’t be angry with you for that, as much as I want to, but I need you to know that I don’t need you to protect me.”

Draco looked up from the floor, eyes shiny with promise. “Then what do you need?”

“Support. Communication, obviously. Take care of me when I need it, and let me do the same for you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Draco asked. “Because I need you to be extremely clear here.”

“Draco, I want to try again,” Harry told him. “I don’t know if it’s smart, and maybe we’ll end up right back here, yelling at each other in my living room, but I want us to at least have  _ tried _ .” 

Draco reached up and tentatively took one of Harry’s hands. “I never actually said I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Harry confirmed. “And you have to know that this won’t be the only conversation on this subject.”

“I understand.” Draco tugged Harry a bit closer. 

“And we should probably take it slow.” Harry straddled Draco’s lap.

“Definitely.” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “Can I kiss you?”

Harry nodded, and Draco leaned forward, pressing their lips together in relief. Harry didn’t even mind that there wasn’t any blood in Draco’s teeth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally when I picked this prompt it was because I was just really excited to write about vampires, to be honest. But as I began writing it, I realized there were so many other facets of consent that could be explored because I was writing about vampires. I wanted to highlight the prompter's ideas about consent (Draco being worried about Harry only wanting him because of his Vampire Pull) but was also really excited to explore consent in the context of the mind. While those two are fairly obvious, I also wanted to make sure that it was going both ways, and hopefully, I’ve achieved that.


End file.
